


Better to Die on your Feet

by hidesourcheeks (zephyras13)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexuality, Consent Issues, Cultural Differences, Dark, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Present Tense, Racism/Colorism, Revolution, Romance, Scott McCall As Primary, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M, Unhealthy Ideas about Relationships and Sex, War, Wordcount: Over 150.000, misogynistic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 138,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyras13/pseuds/hidesourcheeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is thirteen the first time he's Reaped, and he's halfway up to the podium when his best friend unthinkingly volunteers in his place. The second time he's sixteen, and when they call for volunteers the only sound that follows is his mother's scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> How this fic was born:  
> Me: *watching Catching Fire* Why aren't there many stories about Scott in the Hunger Games?  
> Also me: Lol, because that would be the worst, most depressing story ever.  
> Me again: I must write it. 
> 
> This is definitely not the type of story I usually write, and I had a lot of fun planning it out and obsessing over Panem worldbuilding. I really enjoyed the opportunity to write a Scott-centric fic and delve into his characterization more deeply, something that has been sorely lacking in the Teen Wolf fandom. This fic is probably one of the most ambitious stories I've written, given the universe it takes place in, and I felt that it really pushed my boundaries as a writer and took me out of my comfort zone. 
> 
> Like my two other Scallisaac epics, as of this posting this fic is not yet complete, but will be soon. I will probably post once a month until I've finished it and then start posting more frequently.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> The tag Canon Warnings Apply is used for themes that appear in my story in the same or lesser degree as they do in the Hunger Games Trilogy, and are therefore fairly inexplicit. This includes canon-typical violence in and out of the Arena and references to Victors being forced into prostitution.
> 
> With regards to the way characters in this fic view sexuality and race: this story is set in a dystopian police state that suppresses all discussion of divisive issues for the sake of unity, with the only source of education and media being state-sanctioned propaganda. Therefore, as will soon become very obvious, absolutely no one in this story is properly educated about sexuality and race and all have varying degrees of problematic/offensive views. I in no way support any of these views, nor are they intended to be a commentary on modern day social issues in North America or anywhere else in the world. This is just me worldbuilding the cultures of the different Districts and the Capitol using hints Suzanne Collins left in the Hunger Games series.

It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.

\- Emiliano Zapata

This is not real, is his first thought. This is not happening. He doesn't move, rooted to the ground in shock. Scott is dimly aware of the shocked muttering of the people around him, because this is unprecedented, how could this be happening _again_ \- but then the ringing in his ears drowns it out. He sways and the two boys on either side of him reach out to steady him. And then they push him forward.

"Scott McCall!" Bobby Finstock calls again, looking irritated at the delay, while District 12's female tribute, Harley Jones, sobs silently on the podium beside him.

It takes a couple Peacekeepers heading towards him to galvanize him into action, the ingrained fear of their white uniforms and cold expressions overshadowing his shock for a moment. Scott stumbles towards the podium, the boys’ side parting before him, his ears still ringing horribly. It's only when he reaches the aisle that he realizes someone is screaming.

He turns around automatically to find the source of the noise, and immediately finds his mother in the crowd, struggling against the hands of two other women. On the other side of the square a group of people have made way for Harley's mother, who had collapsed the moment her daughter's name was called and is being supported by her grief-stricken husband.

"Scott!" his mother screams, eyes wide and desperate as she struggles in vain against the crowd. "Scott!"

Her horror causes the reality of the situation to hit him like a ton of bricks, that this is it, he is _dead_ , but before he can start to cry, two Peacekeepers grab him under the arms and drag him toward the podium, shoving him up the steps.

He gets a brief look at Alan Deaton's grim expression from his seat next to the mayor, before Finstock pulls him to face the crowd, the cameras.

"This is definitely a first, a second reaping!" Finstock is saying excitedly. "But first things first, are there any volunteers?"

A jolt of illogical fear runs through him, that it will happen again, that he'll step forward and volunteer again-

But of course it doesn't. After all, Stiles has been dead for almost three years. There is only silence.

"Excellent," Finstock says, slapping Scott on the back. "You're a lucky kid! I'll bet you never thought you'd get another chance t-"

Scott's mother lets out a wordless scream of despair that drowns out his next words and Scott begins to cry.

Scott isn't aware of what happens next. He misses the rest of Finstock's remarks, the mayor's speech, and only has a vague recollection of shaking Harley's hand. The next thing he knows he's in the same waiting room he last saw Stiles in three years ago, his mother sobbing in his arms.

"Oh, Scott, oh, Scott," she keeps saying, clutching him so hard it hurts. "Please, please try to win, Scott, please!"

"Mom," Scott chokes, hugging her back and pressing his nose into her shoulder to inhale her comforting scent, because this is it, this is the last time he will ever see his mother, the last time she will ever hold him.

"Scott," a male voices says hoarsely, and Scott raises his head from his mother's trembling shoulder to see his father standing a few feet back, as white as a sheet, his eyes bloodshot from his perpetual hangover.

Scott has not spoken to his father in four years, but he says: "Dad," like the sound has been ripped out of his throat.

Scott's father jerks forward to grip his shoulder, smearing coal dust on Scott's Reaping Day shirt. "Scott, listen to me, you can do it, you can win. You have to be smart and you have to be strong, okay?"

"Okay," Scott repeats numbly, because both of them know that he's lying. Scott has no chance of winning.

The door to the waiting room opens and a group of Peacekeepers enter, faces grim.

"It's time," one of them says, and to her credit she does look apologetic.

"No!" Scott's mother screams, clutching him tighter and pushing his head into his shoulder, as if that will keep him safe. "No, please, five more minutes, please, don't take him, please!"

"It's time to go. Say your goodbyes," the Peacekeepers to her right says firmly.

"No, please," Scott's mother pleads, while his father stands by silent and gape-mouthed.

"I love you, Mom," Scott sobs, hugging her tightly.

"Oh, Scott, I love you, baby, I love you so much. Please win, you have to, you have to come home!" his mother cries, cupping his face in her hand and kissing his face frantically.

I can't, Scott thinks, but he chokes out, "I will, I promise," instead.

"Alright, that's enough, let's go," a Peacekeeper- Scott doesn't know which one- says tightly and he's dragged out of his mother's arms.

"No!" Scott's mother screams as she's restrained by two Peacekeepers and Scott is pulled out of the room. "No, don't take my son, please! Don't take him, please, Rafe, do somethi-"

"Mom, I love you," Scott forces himself to say, memorizing the way she looks now, at the end, her warm brown eyes, curly dark hair, her best blue dress.

"Scott-" she starts, her tear-filled eyes wide with horror and then the heavy wood door slams shut and she's gone.

They ride in a car to the train station, and Scott's never been in one before, but he misses most of it because he's too busy sobbing into his knees and then having an asthma attack. Harley has to help him onto the train, amid a sea of cameras, and by the time it's subsided the train has already started moving, leaving behind District 12 in the dust.

"What's wrong with him?" he hears Finstock ask as he takes deep calming breaths, sagging against the back of his seat.

"Asthma," Deaton replies.

"What?"

"It's a breathing condition. Scott?" He says, leaning over him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Scott pants. The worst is over now. "But I don't have my medicine. There's this liniment I put on my chest that can help-"

"We'll get you medicine in the Capitol," Deaton says gently.

"Better medicine," Finstock chimes in. "None of your District mumbo jumbo."

Scott ignores the insult and nods tightly. Maybe if they can fix his asthma...

No. There's no point in thinking that way.

To distract himself from the wave of misery that floods through him, Scott looks around the train car, eyes widening as he takes in the opulent surroundings. The decor is even finer than in city hall and the table in front of him is piled high with food. Cakes and meats and dishes he doesn't even recognize.

"Yes, well, here's lunch," Finstock says in his refined Capitol accent. "I just hope you two won't behave as savagely as the last two."

Scott looks at the feast before him and tries to decide if he can stomach it. It looks and smells mouthwatering- and he's never seen so much food in his life- but any appetite he had earlier today is gone.

Harley doesn't even look at the food, her eyes fixed blankly on the blurred landscape out the window.

"Well, don't waste it," Finstock says, annoyed. "Think of all the time and effort the Capitol put into this for you."

The gall of him to say that now, while he and Harley ride to their deaths astounds him, and he just stares at him in disbelief because he doesn't understand -has never understood - how the Capitol can think of the Games as an honor to participate in. How Finstock, who comes every year to District 12, chooses two tributes, and watches them die without fail, can have so little empathy.

"What did you say?" Harley says dangerously. Scott doesn't know her very well, outside of the occasional exchange of pleasantries in class, but he does know she doesn't anger easily.

"I said, you shouldn't-"

"I heard what you said!" she shouts, leaping to her feet. It's not a particularly intimidating gesture. Like him, Harley is from the Seam; short, dark-skinned, and underfed. Neither of them have any muscle mass, and therefore, like every other pair of tributes since Deaton won twenty years ago, they have no chance.

"What?" Finstock says, turning to look at Deaton in confusion.

"Harley, that's enough," Deaton says, as calmly as he ever says anything.

She gives him a disgusted look and storms off, leaving Scott to stare at the food before him.

"I hate District 12," Finstock complains, grabbing a muffin off the table and taking a bite out of it. "I should be escorting a decent district."

"Scott," Deaton says softly. "You should eat."

Scott looks up at him and is vaguely surprised to see genuine pain in his eyes. Scott doesn't know Deaton well either, but he's pretty sure he knows him better than most of District 12. Deaton is a complete recluse, whose only interaction with the rest of the district is his animal doctor business. It's not really a business, though, considering he does it for free. Scott makes- _made_ -the trip once a month to his house in the Victor's Village to sell him medicinal herbs his mother grew in her garden. Sometimes he made Scott tea in his big white empty house, especially during the winter months. Scott never asked about Stiles though. He never wanted to know. Maybe he should now, though. He is rapidly running out of time to change his mind.

Scott picks up his spoon and serves himself a helping of a delicious smelling meat and vegetables mixture. It's not because his appetite's back, or Deaton told him to, or he's trying to keep up his strength. It's because Finstock's right. He shouldn't waste food.

 

* * *

 

Scott spends most of the night on the train crying softly into his pillow. The train doesn't feel like it's moving at all, even though Finstock told him that they're moving almost two hundred miles per hour, but the bed is too soft to be comfortable. He feels like he's going to sink through the floor. He wouldn't be able to sleep even if he wasn't so afraid he thinks he might explode.

It's not fair. It shouldn't end this way, he never even...he never got to- He was so _young_. And now he'd never turn seventeen. He'll never see another summer, never muster the courage to sneak more than a quarter of a mile into the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms. Never sleep in his bed again, never finish school and get a job so his mother wouldn't have to work double shifts in the mines and treat the injuries and ailments of half the district just to make ends meet.

Like that was ever going to happen, some part of him thinks nastily. He'd never be able to work in the mines because of his asthma; he'd almost died the first time his class went on the customary field trip into the mines. And there were few other opportunities to make money in 12. Certainly no merchant would hire him because of his coloring. It’s more likely that he would have remained a burden on his mother for the rest of her life.

Maybe this is better, Scott thinks, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, too exhausted to cry anymore. He just wishes she wouldn't have to see him die.

A couple hours after the sun begins to rise, its pale light creeping into the compartment and illuminating the lavish decorations, beautifully-patterned wallpaper, thick purple curtains and soft carpet. An attendant knocks on his door and when Scott answers, he frowns down at his rumpled clothes.

"Did you sleep in those?" he asks, his eyes shockingly green. They can't be natural, can they? "There are pajamas in the dresser. You should probably also change for breakfast. Mr. Deaton and Mr. Finstock would like you in the dining car in half an hour." He wrinkles his nose at the coal smear on his shirt. "You are also encouraged to use the facilities, " and gestures to the tiled room in the corner of Scott's room that he's guessing is the bathroom.

"Okay," Scott says.

"Do you know how to use them?" the attendant asks skeptically.

"Yes," Scott bristles, even though that's not technically true. Like most of District 12, he doesn't have running water at home, but he's used Deaton's bathroom before. It can't be too hard to figure out. And he hates the smug way Capitol people look down on 12 just because they're poor.

The attendant looks at him disbelievingly, but apparently decides it’s not his problem, and leaves.

It’s only when Scott enters the bathroom that he realizes how badly he needs to go. The toilet is a lot more high-tech than Deaton’s and it has a bunch of buttons on it instead of a simple handle. Scott looks at all of them carefully, trying to figure out which one to push to make it flush, but it flushes automatically after a couple seconds, causing him to jump back in shock at the loud noise.

He has no idea how to use the shower, though. It’s probably fairly simple, but there are also a ton of buttons on the wall next to it and to be honest Scott just doesn’t have the energy to try. He just took a bath yesterday, with cold water from the well and cheap white soap. That’s good enough for now.

He looks through the clothes and finds a pair of soft trousers, finer than anything he’s ever seen, even in the expensive clothing store that all the merchant kids get their clothes from. Shirts are a bit more difficult. Everything is short-sleeved and without collars, like an undershirt. He finally chooses the red one because he likes the color and he’s never had anything red before, but he feels oddly exposed without something covering his skinny arms, and is relieved to find a denim jacket in the closet.

Scott tries to fix his hair in the shockingly clear mirror for something to do while he avoids going to breakfast. He doesn’t want to go to breakfast, because that would be acknowledging that this is real. He doesn’t want to have to walk down the train and feel the eyes of the attendants on him, have to sit in the dining car and force food down his throat, sit next to Harley and see the despair in her eyes, and the pity in Deaton’s. Even the thought of it makes him suddenly so terrified that he has to close his eyes and take several deep breaths to prevent himself from sobbing. This isn’t fair, he can’t do this, why is this happening to hi-

“Mr. McCall, it’s time,” the attendant’s voice comes from outside the door.

Scott opens his eyes and takes a steadying breath, watching the lines on his face fade away as he schools his expression into something more composed.

Harley is already in the dining car when he pulls open the door, scarfing down a large stack of pancakes without bothering to use the silverware. Scott sits down next to her, across from Deaton and Finstock, the latter looking disgusted at Harley’s lack of manners.

Scott is very hungry at this point, but he gets himself some eggs and toast and eats it very slowly, worried that he might throw up if he eats too fast. Still, even with his terror at being here, the food is delicious.

"Alright, let's begin, " Deaton says seriously, leaning forward and pushing his plate to the side. Harley goes stiff in her seat next to him and Scott has to concentrate very hard to prevent his hand from shaking as he puts down his plate and wipes his sticky fingers on the white linen napkin. He feels bad getting it dirty, but that's what it's for, right?

"I'm going to be very blunt right now, so I apologize for that in advance," Deaton says calmly. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, neither of you are fighters. "

Both he and Harley shake their heads. Scott's never been in a fight in his life unless he counts a bunch of merchant boys beating him up when he was twelve or his and Stiles's admittedly pathetic wrestling matches. Which he doesn't.

"You will be given three days to train, and my recommendation is to spend all of that time learning survival skills," Deaton says grimly. "Neither of you will be able to significantly increase your strength or become skilled enough with a weapon in that amount of time. Scott, I know you already have some familiarity with the uses of different plants. What about you, Harley?"

Harley shakes her head, looking miserable. She's wearing a pretty green dress that's a little too small by the way it clings to her. The fabric seems very thin, in the Capitol fashion, and the skirt only goes down to her knees, which she seems very uncomfortable with by the way she keeps trying to pull it down.

"I mean, I do, but I don't see how that's going to help if the Arena's in the tropics," Scott says, trying to make her feel better.

"What about sponsors?" Harley asks quietly, hopelessly.

"I'm afraid that's not very likely," Deaton says sympathetically. "In general, the tributes from District 12 are usually ignored by most viewers. Unless you manage to catch their attention before the Games, it's doubtful you'll even be considered as a potential recipient."

Scott nods stiffly. It's not anything he didn't know, after all. District 12 tributes rarely receive anything from sponsors unless someone in 12 feels like they have a chance and starts a collection at the Hob. And even then they can never afford to get them anything good.    

"Your best chance is to outlast the other tributes," Deaton says. "It's been done before. You just have to be properly prepared."

And unrealistically lucky, Scott thinks numbly.

"And if you manage to make a splash in the Capitol, that's where Alan and I come in, " Finstock says cheerfully, taking a drink of something Scott's pretty sure is alcoholic. His dislike for him increases tenfold. "We'll get you sponsors as long as you do your part!"

Deaton's face tightens in disapproval, but he takes a drink of brightly colored juice instead of saying anything.

"How do we do that?" Harley demands.

Scott zones out as Finstock starts talking about ways to "wow" the Capitol audience. There's nothing he can do to impress them that hasn't been tried a hundred times before, and to be honest the disgust he feels at the thought of playing their game overshadows his fear of death. He's going to die either way, he _knows_ that. District 12, short, underweight, asthmatic- he has no chance.  If he's going to die it's going to be on his terms. He's not going to become someone he's not in the last weeks of his life. He couldn't do that, for himself, for his mother.

"Scott?" Deaton says worriedly, breaking him out of his reverie. "Are you alright?"

Scott smiles gently. "I'm okay. "

He's not, of course. He's never going to be okay with dying at sixteen, with leaving his mother alone. But there's nothing he can do about it and...and he knows he was always a burden on her. And that probably wouldn't have changed as he moved into adulthood. When he's gone...it'd be easier for her. She wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. Maybe she'd be able to remarry.

"Why are you so calm?" Harley asks him angrily, when they leave the dining car and head to another car to watch the footage of the other Reapings.

Scott gives a bitter laugh. "Oh, I'm not."

She's looks at him searchingly for a second, and then turns away miserably. Scott tries not to stare at her bare legs as she walks away. He's never seen the bare legs of a woman before in real life, except on his mother's kitchen table, and even then his mother usually made him go away unless it was a bad enough injury that she needed his help. Women who worked in the mines wore trousers, but they would never wear a skirt like that that exposed their legs and no one in 12 wore shorts. The amount of skin Capitol people showed had always bothered Scott, though he didn't understand the people who objected to the nudity in the Games more than the _children brutally murdering each other_.

"Scott," Deaton says from behind him and Scott almost jumps because he hadn't even realized he was there. "Don't give up." His face is very tight as he says it and Scott suddenly feels a wave of pity for him. It must be terrible to be forced to mentor tributes year after year, and be unable to save any of them. "If you give up you won't even have a chance. "

"Is that what you told Stiles? " Scott asks, voice cracking a little on his name.

Deaton's stricken look is answer enough, and Scott turns away before he can reply, sick with grief.

He was right. It was better not to know.

 

* * *

 

If Scott wasn't already certain he was going to die, he definitely would have been after they watched the footage from the other Reapings. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are all volunteers and 18 years old. The boys from District 1 and 4 look like they could crush Scott with their bare hands and Scott can tell that the girl from 2 is equally as lethal just by the look on her face. All of the boys are bigger than him except for the two fourteen year olds from Districts 5 and 10, and the boys from District 7 and 11 look like they are probably more than a head taller than him.

Every once in a while Deaton makes a comment about the tributes (don't underestimate the girls from 2 and 4, they're both legacies,) but mostly they watch in silence. The tributes from District 9 appear to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and Scott finds himself holding back tears as they clutch at each other while the commentators coo at the drama of it all. The girl from 7 sobs all the way up to the podium and the boy from 8 actually tries to run, but other than the Careers, most of the tributes seem just as shocked as he was. Scott cringes when they finally get to District 12 and watches Harley walk shakily up to the podium. The commentators are clearly bored at this point and Scott feels his cheeks burn in humiliation and anger when they mock his dumbstruck expression and stumbling and complain about his mother's "overreaction."

"We're dead," Harley says hopelessly when the screen goes blank.

"Don't say that," Deaton says. "Physical strength isn't the only-"

"Do you think we're stupid?!" Harley says, leaping off the couch and glaring at Deaton furiously. "You think we have a chance against those Careers? Or the boy from 11?"

"Your strategy has to be-"

"Shut up," she says, eyes filling with tears. "I don't want to hear anymore. "

"Hey!" Finstock protests when she bolts out of the room. "Don't be so dramatic, come back her-"

"Bobby," Deaton says warningly.

Finstock scowls and raises his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. "

"I'll talk to her," Scott says, desperately wanting to get out of this room.

He leaves before they can call him back and follows Harley to her room. It's exactly the same as his, except with girl's clothes, which Scott knows because she'd emptied them all out on the floor.

"Go away," Harley says from under the covers of the too-soft bed.

Tearing his eyes away from the pile of brassieres on the floor, Scott says, "Is there anything I can do?" He knows there isn't, of course, but he doesn't know what else to say.

"No," she sobs. "I just can't do this. There's no point. I don't want to die, but I can't win. I've never even hit someone before. "

"I know," Scott says hoarsely, feeling his eyes well up with tears. "I don't want to die either, but..." He attempts to swallow back the lump in his throat. "But we can't just gi-"

"Just, please, leave me alone," she sobs, curling herself into a ball under the blanket.

Scott goes back to his own room to follow her example and tries not to wonder if this is how Stiles felt three years ago.


	2. The Capitol

Even Scott's misery cannot take away his wonder when they arrive at their destination. He and Harley stare out the windows at the tall buildings, breathtaking architecture, and masses of colorful people, many of them who jump and wave at the sight of their train.

"What are they so excited about?" Harley asks, bemused.

"You, of course," Finstock says happily.  "They've been waiting for months for this and now you're finally here! Don't be shy now, wave back."

Neither of them waves back.

It gets even weirder when they get off the train and are immediately surrounded by curious Capitol citizens. Everyone in 12 always thought Finstock looked strange with his brightly colored jackets and obscenely tight trousers, but he's nothing compared to the people with painted faces, hair the color of the frosting on the cakes in the bakery window that Scott's mother always liked to look at when they went into town, shoes with heels so high it’s like they’re walking around on stilts. Peacekeepers escort them out of the station, Scott twisting around to get a look at the beautiful stained glass windows in the enormous station, but unfortunately he can't see much with the crowd. By the time they get to the sleek black car that will take them to the Remake Center, the harsh press of people around him sets off another asthma attack and Scott struggles to breathe for a few terrible minutes before it subsides.

Scott leans back in his seat to avoid the pitying gazes of the others and looks out the window instead, marveling at the wealth and brightness of the Capitol.

And yet they let us starve and kill our children, a part of him that sounds suspiciously like Stiles thinks.

The first meeting with his prep team is a total disaster. He is immediately declared disgusting and is ordered to strip completely naked so that they can wash him. Scott point-blank refuses and then _they_ get offended at him for "being difficult," completely unable to grasp the concept that he might not want to stand naked in front of strangers, not to mention be _touched_ by them, two of whom are _women_. He does not give in, despite their complaining how hard he's making their lives, and eventually they're forced to compromise and let him wash himself in the fancy Capitol showers. They make him redo it twice even though Scott can't tell the difference after the first time and his skin is starting to turn bright red from scrubbing, but eventually they just give up. Scott thinks the worst is over, but then they start _ripping off_ half his body hair. His chest, parts of his eyebrows, his face (because apparently shaving just does not cut it) and most painfully, his armpits. They're clearly furious at him for refusing to take off his trousers, and make no attempt to be gentle. By the time they're done Scott's skin is even more red with irritation and he's shaking with pain and repressed rage.

And that's even before he meets his stylist and he starts eyeing his hair speculatively.

"No!" Scott yelps, pulling away from the woman on his prep team with dyed purple skin and shockingly large lips who's trying to clean and shape his nails in the most rough way possible. "You're not cutting my hair!"

He _likes_ his hair this way, he's had it this way his whole life even though he knows it's a little shaggy. He's not going to let them change it, make it something horrible and garish in the last weeks of his life.

"It makes you look like a child," his stylist says dismissively. He's a cold looking man named Brunski with absolutely no wrinkles on his face despite the fact he must be at least 45 and forest green eyebrows and eyelashes. Scott hates how he looks at him like he's not even a person, but an object instead. "And if you cause my team any more delays I'll call a Peacekeeper in here to sedate you until you can behave properly. "

"I _am_ a child, " Scott says furiously, but doesn't resist when the woman with long indigo hair put up in an elaborate hairdo with gold hairpieces shaped like little birds stuck in it that match her lips pushes him into a chair and the man with blood red fake nails and a shirt that exposes half his chest begins snipping at his hair. Scott struggles to hold back tears as bits of hair fall onto the smock they've put around him and it's not because the woman with purple skin has started cleaning his fingernails again. He wonders if this is the same team that was assigned to Stiles.

"See, that wasn't so bad," the man with the red nails says after half an hour (how long could one haircut take, did he even have any hair left?) and hands Scott a small mirror. "What do you think?" he asks, clearly expecting validation.

It's not...bad. It's shorter, but he does in fact still have most of his hair and he definitely does look older. He's still recognizable too, which was his main concern, that they'd do something so crazy that he wouldn't even look like himself anymore. But no matter how smart it looks, he can't find it in him to be happy about it.

"It's good, " he says shortly, feeling a twinge of guilt when the man's face falls.

"Now time for your costume," Brunski says, coming back into the room and giving Scott a cursory glance.

Please be a coal miner's outfit, Scott thinks.

 

* * *

 

It's not a coal miner's outfit.

An hour later Scott is standing in the bottom level of the Remake Center outside the stables covered in coal dust and wearing only a black loincloth to cover himself, so angry and humiliated he's on the verge of an asthma attack. The two tributes from District 6 pass them while they're waiting for Harley and her prep team and laugh loudly at the sight of him.

"Wow, and I thought our costumes were bad," the girl says, wearing a dress that looks like it's made out pieces of a car and miniature railroad tracks. She's dark-skinned, contrasting greatly with her blue-eyed, blond district partner, and has an incredibly nasty smirk for someone he's pretty sure is younger than him.

Scott's cheeks burn in humiliation as they enter the stables and Finstock mutters something nasty about ill-mannered brats from the middle districts who thought they could look down on them. He can't do this, Scott thinks, starting to panic. He can't just go out there like this. Why had they spent all that time cleaning them off if all they were going to do is cover them in coal and send them on the chariots practically naked? Why couldn't they just wear clothes with coal on them or something? Last year's tributes wore a miner's jumpsuit with the top unzipped and pushed down to the waist with wifebeaters underneath, why couldn't they do that again? This is going to be terrible, what is his mother going to think? Even Stiles got to wear cloth-

"Scott?" Finstock says when Scott's breathing begins to go fast and panicked. "Are you alright?"

"F-fine," Scott chokes out, clutching his chest and trying to slow his breathing. This couldn't happen now, not when anyone could walk by and see. Not when in a couple minutes he'd be in a chariot in front of the entire country. He had to stop it, he had to-

"-get control of yourself, kid," Brunski says in disgust, a chilling imitation Scott's father. "Stop touching your chest; you're going to ruin the coal dust effect."

"Hey, leave him alone, this is your fault!" Finstock says accusingly whilst Scott's prep team just stares at him in confusion. "If you did your job for once and actually designed a decent outfit, maybe-"

"Oh, this is just so typical of you escorts, you think you know everythin-" Brunski shoots back while Scott bends over in agony, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn in his lungs.

"You think throwing coal dust on them hasn't been done before? You're a hack, Brunski, and the day you get fired is the day I-"

"Scott," Deaton says, suddenly at his side and pressing something plastic against his mouth. "Just inhale deeply, alright?"

Scott inhales automatically and is shocked at the sudden relief it brings, like suddenly his lungs are clear. Deaton pulls it away so he can exhale and shakes it before bringing it back to Scott's mouth.

"Wow," Scott says after he inhales it twice more, his breathing completely back to normal. "Thanks."

"This will help while you're here, " Deaton says with a tight smile. "It's called an inhaler. I tried to get them to cure you permanently, but I was told it would be against the rules, I'm sorry. "

"It's okay, " Scott says, a twinge of disappointment running through him even he hadn't thought much about getting cured.

"When you feel an attack coming on you just shake it, press the button on the top and inhale at the bottom," Deaton explains, holding up the light blue inhaler so Scott can inspect it more closely. "I'll hold onto this until after the parade, but usually you'll just carry it with you."

"Yeah, don't really have any pockets right now, " Scott says with a weak smile and an even weaker attempt at humor.

Which falls right off his face when he catches sight of Harley, hiding behind Deaton.

"What the _hell_ is this?" Scott says furiously, too angry to censor himself.

Harley is covered in coal dust the same as him and is wearing the exact same loincloth. And only the loincloth. She's wrapped her arms around herself tightly in an attempt to cover her breasts, hair loose and unnaturally straight, and tears of humiliation are running down her cheeks, causing obvious tear-tracks to form because of the coal on her face.

"Silly girl, you look gorgeous, now stop crying, " her stylist says, an exasperated young woman with red hair and metal bits stuck all over her face, her dress indecently short.

"What the hell is wrong with you, get her a shirt! " Scott demands, forgetting his own embarrassment and stepping forward in front of Harley protectively, further incensed at the realization that two of the three people on Harley's prep team are men. Had they done to her the same thing they'd tried to do to him?

"Your backward views might fly in District 12, but this is the Capitol," Brunski says coldly. "Just be happy your mentor stepped in; if we had our way you'd be completely naked."

Scott swallows back his rage and gives Deaton a grateful look that he doesn't return, already looking inside the stables.

"We'd better hurry, it looks like District 1 is just about to ride out," he says mildly.

They quickly enter the stables and take their places on their chariot at the back of the procession. Scott looks interestedly at the jet black horses pulling their chariot before raising his eyes to the tributes in front of them. The boy and girl from District 11 are dressed as a farm boy and a milkmaid respectively, and Scott is vaguely impressed at the stylists work with the girl's blonde hair, remembering how wild it was during her Reaping. The tributes from 10 are dressed as cows and he thinks District 9 are stalks of wheat, but he can't really tell. None of this makes him feel any better.

Scott almost jumps as the opening music begins and the massive doors slide open to reveal the wide streets and the crowd, and cranes his neck to watch District 1 ride out into the street, wearing beautiful white robes that glitter like diamonds. Not fair, he thinks, sick to his stomach as the chariot jerks slightly forward. District 1 is practically the Capitol, why aren’t _they_ the ones that have to be naked?

Harley lets out a quiet sob when they begin moving in earnest, swaying slightly as she’s unable to cover herself and hold onto the railing.

“It’ll be okay, just look straight ahead,” Scott tells her gently. He sees her nod out of her peripheral vision and feels like he should do something else to comfort her. But he can’t think of anything to do without looking at her and he’s not going to do that.

The roar of the crowd is almost deafening when they finally get outside, but Scott doesn’t want to look at them, just stares straight at District 11’s backs for the whole twenty minute ride and tries not to think about what he looks like right now, what his mother must be thinking. He hears Harley suppressing sobs every couple minutes, but mostly both of them stay silent the entire time. Tributes in front of them are waving, scooping down to catch flowers or tokens thrown by the cheering crowd, but Scott and Harley don’t make any attempt to engage with them.

Finally, they reach the City Circle and the chariots arrange themselves in a semi-circle in front of the president’s mansion. The national anthem sounds again and the crowd quiets as President Deucalion walks out onto the balcony and begins his speech about honor and sacrifice. Scott watches him in disgust, fists clenched around the railing of the chariot. People in the Capitol believe that his blindness makes him wise, but Scott’s always gotten the impression that he enjoys the brutality of the Games for more than the “good of the Panem.” The huge screens around the City Circle flash between the president and the tributes, but Scott is relieved to see that they mostly focus on the Career tributes. He and Harley show up only twice, looking skinny, miserable, and freezing in the twilight air. Scott is so happy when it’s over he almost falls off of the chariot because he can’t disembark fast enough when they finally make it into the Training Center.

“Where’s Deaton?” Harley whispers, looking around for their mentor and shivering violently. The sun has just started to set and the temperature has dropped considerably. Scott wraps his arms around himself as well and wishes for clothes.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” a voice says from next to them and Scott turns around to see the male tribute from District 2, dressed in a metallic suit, unapologetically leering at Harley.

Scott steps in front of her, fists clenched angrily and says, “Back off.”

“What?” District 2 says, actually looking surprised at this response. What did he think they were going to do, Scott thinks in disgust, roll over and play dead? “What did you say to me?”  

“You heard me,” Scott replies coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you kidding me?” District 2 says with a laugh, looking up and down Scott’s skinny body. “ _You_ want to start something with _me_?”

“Back off,” Scott repeats, a prickle of fear at the realization that no one is stepping in to stop this. The other tributes and the few mentors that have already arrived seem content to watch the scene in front of them curiously and the female District 2 tribute looks completely disinterested in what her partner is doing.

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” he says with a cruel grin, trying to look around Scott to get a better look at Harley. “Your partner there looks kind of cold. I figured you 12’s would be used to it- it’s always seemed to me that your entire district is naked and covered in coal dust.”

“And I thought they actually educated people in 2,” Scott retorts. “I guess we were both wrong.”

“You filthy 12 piece of shi-” District 2 starts furiously, taking a step forward.

“Enough,” Deaton says coldly from behind them, and Scott almost wants to applaud his perfect timing. “Scott, Harley, let’s go.”

“Just you wait, 12!” District 2 shouts as they make their way to the elevator. “I’ll see you in the Arena!”

“You should not have done that,” Deaton says as they step into the elevator.

Yeah, I should’ve, Scott thinks, but doesn’t argue. It’s not like it’ll make him any more dead when the time comes.

 

* * *

 

The room they're staying in (or penthouse, as Finstock calls it) is even more opulent than the train. Scott's bedroom is the size of his house in District 12 and the window has an amazing view of the Capitol. They're on the 12th floor and both he and Harley gasped in shock as they climbed higher and higher. Deaton explains how to use the shower, which is even more complicated than the one on the train, and Scott spends the next hour scrubbing coal dust off himself, luxuriating in the endless stream of hot water. Heaters dry him automatically when he steps out of the shower and then he programs the closet to design a pair of soft brown trousers, a proper blue shirt with long sleeves and a collar, and a pair of perfectly-fitting leather shoes. Finstock looks unimpressed with his and Harley's choice of clothes, the latter who chose a modest lavender dress with a long skirt and white shawl, hair tied back in a bun, but just rolls his eyes and doesn't comment.

The dining room is lavishly decorated with an odd geometrically-shaped chandelier hanging over the long asymmetrical glass table piled with delicious smelling dishes, fruits and vegetables, and what Scott thinks is a roasted lamb in the center. The table is set for six, but only he, Harley, Deaton, and Finstock eat. Scott suspects Deaton uninvited their stylists.

Despite the attractiveness of the spread, Scott isn't really hungry, even though he barely ate anything at lunch. He drinks some of sweet fruit juice, though the orange juice he had on the train was better, and clumsily attempts to use the silverware to cut up a small piece of lamb. Harley seems to be enjoying the mashed potatoes and beef stew, but Scott is still too sick with misery and humiliation to work up an appetite. The silent servers in white tunics that clear their dishes and bring Finstock as many glasses of whiskey as he desires also make him uncomfortable. He feels sort of bad for them, having to wait on them all night. He hopes they get to eat after.

"Scott, you need to eat," Deaton says, after giving up trying to get him and Harley to discuss their strategies for the Games. "You need your strength for tomorrow and it'll be good if you can gain some weight before the Games. "

Scott shrugs noncommittally and moves his lamb around on his plate a bit, eyes fixed on his uneaten meal.

"I'm not hungry," he says quietly.

"Well, there's dessert coming in a few minutes, that'll whet your appetite," Finstock says cheerfully, taking another swig of whiskey. "And, ooh, look, wine!"

Indeed, a server is bringing in a tray of steaming wine. Scott flatly refuses, the evils of drink having been drilled into him at an early age, but Harley accepts a glass curiously, and Scott tries to suppress his vindication when she makes a face at the taste. Dessert comes next and by this point Scott is fidgeting in his seat, wanting nothing more than to leave and get away from Deaton's disappointed eyes. Then Finstock drunkenly knocks over a tray of fruit one of the servers was carrying.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he slurs, while Scott gets out of his seat to help clean up the mess.

“Sorry about him,” Scott whispers apologetically to the server, young with dark brown hair and pale skin, and scoops a handful of purple fruit that he doesn’t recognize back into one of the bowls. “I can get this if you want.”

The young man stares at him blankly and then slowly shakes his head.

“I mean, if you need to do something else,” Scott explains, because obviously the man still has to clear the table, he can’t go home yet.

“Scott, he’s an Avox, he can’t answer you,” Deaton says, turning around in his seat a bit to look down at him.

“What?” Scott says, confused.

The man gives him a brief smile, scoops the last handful of fruit back into one of the bowls and then carries the tray back out of the room again.

“They’re criminals,” Deaton explains quietly as Scott stands. “As punishment for their crimes, their tongues are cut out and they serve the Capitol for the rest of their lives.”

“Oh,” Scott says, horrified at the cruelty of cutting out someone’s tongue.

“Scott, sit down and have some cake!” Finstock says drunkenly, but Scott declines and escapes to the safety of his room without another word.

He looks miserably out the window at the brightly lit Capitol below and then buries himself under the dark blue covers of the unnecessarily large bed and sobs himself to sleep, clutching the inhaler tightly.

He doesn’t really get much sleep. He keeps wondering what it’ll be like to be dead, to be nothing. How much it will hurt. What will happen to his mother. He drifts in and out, terror making it difficult to breathe normally, though the inhaler keeps his useless lungs from suffocating him. Maybe that would be better though.

He’s so exhausted the next morning Deaton has to come and wake him up in time for breakfast. Breakfast is just as fancy as dinner, and Scott manages to eat a piece of toast and drink a glass of orange juice, before his anxiety at the thought of the next three days makes it impossible to eat any more without throwing up.

At ten he and Harley, dressed in loose-fitting trousers and tunics, take the elevator down to the training room in the basement, a huge gymnasium filled with weapons and obstacle courses. Pieces of paper with the number 12 on it are pinned to their backs and they join a semi-circle of the other tributes around a woman who’s explaining the training schedule. It’s the closest Scott’s been to the other tributes so far, and he finds himself tense and uncomfortable at the proximity, even though none of them are so much as looking at him and Harley.

Once the woman is done explaining things, the group immediately disperses, the majority of them heading over to the different weapons stations, the Careers elbowing the other tributes out of the way to get there first. He, Harley, the tributes from District 10, the girl from 7, the boy from 5, and the girl from 3 are left behind, uncertain what to do. Scott squares his shoulders and turns towards the fire-starting station.

“C’mon,” he tells Harley. “Let’s go over here.”

Stiles spent three days slowly freezing to death in that year’s arctic Arena before he finally died on the fourth day of the Games. Scott is not going to let that happen to him.

 

* * *

 

Scott and Harley spend the next three days learning different survival skills; camouflage, edible plants, knots, and shelter-making. Harley takes a brief lesson from the knife-throwing instructor, but Scott doesn’t even bother with the weapons. He’s not going to kill anyone. He’s just not. He doesn’t want to be a murderer, at the end. The Capitol can kill him, but he’s not going to let them make him a monster.

He doesn’t talk with any of the other tributes than Harley, though the pretty District 5 tribute with narrow eyes and a flat nose smiles at him sympathetically when he accidentally drops a bowl of camouflage paint and the instructor starts berating him angrily. She’s especially good at starting fires, and Scott thinks about asking her to show him how to do it, but he can’t quite work up the courage and then she moves on to the sword station.

Purple-robed Gamemakers watch them train the entire three days, though they pretty much only pay attention to the Careers’ weapons training. Scott knows it won’t do him any good, but he can’t help watch them as well. They each seem to have a specialty; the District 1 boy can lift over a hundred pounds and excels at hand to hand combat, and his partner has excellent aim with a spear. The District 2 girl’s throwing knives always hit their target, and the boy slashes at the practice dummies with a broadsword with obvious glee. The District 4 girl takes down all the wrestling assistants in less than ten seconds, and her partner’s skill with an ax has even the boy from District 7 looking uneasy.

During the nights Deaton keeps trying to get him to talk about his strategy, how he can’t give up hope, how he needs to eat, but Scott doesn’t want to hear it and eventually he gives up and focuses all his energy on Harley. Scott cocoons himself in his blankets in his room and watches mindless Capitol TV shows, where the biggest obstacle to the characters’ lives are romantic misunderstanding and wardrobe malfunctions. They’re vapid and generally terrible (Scott has to change the channel far too often for nudity and even worse, love scenes) but every once in a while he’ll forget for a minute that he’ll most likely be dead in a couple days.

For his evaluation, Scott halfheartedly creates a couple snares, more for his own benefit than to show off his skills. The Gamemakers don’t pay much attention to him, bored after twenty-two other evaluations and distracted by drink and food, but some of them must have at least glanced at him to notice his unimpressive display. They give him a two.

 

* * *

 

For his interview, Scott wears a black suit with a glossy forest green collared shirt and shiny leather shoes that Stiles’ dad would have loved. Stiles’ dad was the son of a cobbler, and even though he was the fifth son with no chance of inheriting the business, it was still somewhat of a scandal when he married a woman from the Seam and became a coal miner. They struggled to survive, like all of the Seam, but Stiles always had the very best shoes.

Scott looks up from the shoes when he hears Harley approach and his mouth drops open at the sight of her. She’s wearing a strapless yellow dress that falls to her knees with shiny gemstones and her hair, which it seems like they managed to permanently straighten, is loose and touching her bare shoulders. It looks like they ripped all the hair off her legs as well as her armpits and she’s wearing less clothing than the women who sell themselves at the Hob, but Scott has to admit she looks very beautiful.

“Wow…” he says in awe. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” she says shyly, her painted lips twitching slightly upward in a smile. “You too.”

“Alright, time to go!” Finstock says excitedly, wearing a bright blue dress jacket and neon green trousers for the occasion, his hair slicked back and eyelids almost as bright as Harley’s dress.

They take the elevator down to the ground floor, and Scott and Harley take their seats on the stage outside the Training Center with all the other tributes. Even as his anxiety rises at the sight of the crowd, Scott takes in the other tribute’s outfits in wonder. Then, too soon, the opening music starts and the bright stage lights come up. The crowd roars in approval and Scott swallows, looking down at his feet to shield his eyes. William Barrow, the overexuberant host who is always so gleeful at the prospect of the deaths of all but one of the people he interviews every year, strides on stage confidently, waving to the adoring crowd. And then they begin.

The District 1 girl, wearing a shockingly translucent white dress with heels so high they seem to make her bare legs even longer, and the boy, wearing a tight fitted shirt that is clearly designed to show off his muscles, both speak arrogantly about her own intelligence and strength. The District 2 girl, looking somehow even more deadly than usual in her long midnight blue V-neck dress is completely impassive as she talks about her willingness to kill as many people as it takes to bring glory to her district and her partner smirks almost as creepily as Barrow does when asked about his greatest strength. Both District 3 tributes are so nervous they stumble over their words incomprehensibly. The District 4 girl is apparently the younger sister of Derek Hale, who won the Games nine years ago, and the daughter of Talia Hale, who won before Scott was born, and cannot quite contain her fury, sitting stiffly in her dark red dress flecked with gold. In contrast, the boy, who unlike his partner volunteered, is just as ruthless as the District 1 boy. The District 5 girl looks very pretty in her light blue gown, but she’s on the verge of tears her entire interview. Her partner, an olive-skinned fourteen year old, barely speaks. Both District 6 tributes actually seem excited to begin the Games. The District 7 girl cries through her entire interview. The boyfriend and girlfriend from District 9 vow to do whatever it takes to protect each other, while the fourteen year old from District 10 talks about how he wants to make his parents proud. The District 11 girl’s entire interview consists of Barrow creepily complimenting her transformation from an acne-scarred, wild-haired girl to a confident, “curvaceous” woman, but she handles it well, sitting perfectly poised in her tight black dress that shows a shocking amount of cleavage. Her dark-skinned partner barely speaks at all, but he can get away with it because of his size. He’s almost a foot taller than Scott.

Finally it’s Harley’s turn and Scott barely manages to whisper a “good luck!” before she’s carefully walking down the stairs to the stage, tottering slightly on her high heels. It’s clear she’s very nervous, but she manages not to cry and talks tremulously about her boyfriend and her parents back in 12 and how she’d like to see them again. The audience doesn’t seem particularly interested, bored by the farthest out, least competitive district, and by the time it’s his turn there’s a low murmur of conversation throughout the audience.

“So, Scott McCall!” Barrow says cheerfully in his weird Capitol accent, looking at Scott intently with his disturbingly light blue eyes. Scott has always wondered why his peers from the Seam wished they had the blue eyes of their merchant counterparts. He’s always thought they were creepy and cold-looking. “You got a 2, one of the lowest scores in the history of the Games. How do you think you’ll be able to get very far with that?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually trying that hard,” Scott says, his voice sounding strange and foreign magnified, but his annoyance at Barrow’s flippant attitude overshadowing his nervousness. What if he had said that to someone who really tried their best? That was the problem with Capitol people, he thinks in disgust. They have no idea how cruel they really are.

“Oh, really?” Barrow says interestedly, the bright lights on his dark blue suit shining distractingly. “Got a secret skill you’re planning to surprise us all with to win the Games?”

“No,” Scott says flatly. “I’m not going to win.”

“Oh, well, I don’t think you’ll get far with an-” Barrow starts, but suddenly Scott sees this for what it is. This is his one and only chance to speak his mind, for his mother to see him strong and defiant before he dies.

“I’m not going to win,” he says firmly, looking at Barrow straight on. “Because I’m not going to play.”

“What-” Barrow says in confusion.

“I’m not going to kill anyone. I could never do that, especially not to an innocent child,” Scott says, feeling his face heat up under the bright lights. He can suddenly feel every single eye of the audience, the Capitol, the Districts, on him and instead of cowing him it just eggs him on. “I’m...I’m going to die, I know that. But I won’t become a murderer. Not ever.”

It’s mostly true, but not completely. Scott knows he would kill to save his mother, if he had to. But they don’t know that.

“I won’t become a murderer,” he repeats into the stunned silence.

 _You can’t make me_.

“Well,” Barrow says after a beat, the tiniest bit of anger seeping into his usually excited demeanor. “I suppose that’s one school of thought.”

Scott wishes he could think of something else to say, something about how it doesn’t have to be this way, how they didn’t have to do this horrible, cruel, _pointless_ display every single year, but his moment is over and he can’t think of the right words.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because then the buzzer rings, too early, and he’s booed off the stage.

Jeers ringing in his ears, Scott goes back up the stairs to sit next to Harley, feeling the bewildered and disgusted stares of the other tributes boring into him.

“Coward!” one woman screams as Scott sits down, and he finds himself biting back a laugh. _Coward_? No, Scott’s not a coward. He may be weak, poor, maybe a little naive, but he’s not a coward. He’s going to his death with as much dignity as possible, with no hope of survival, without leaving a bloody path of destruction in his wake. It’s the best he can hope for in the Games.

Stiles’ interview had been much like Harley’s. He’d seemed very small in his bright blue suit in the interview chair and when Barrow asked him why he volunteered, Stiles had said shakily that he hadn’t wanted his best friend to die. But he’d had the same look on his face when Scott went to say goodbye to him in the Justice Building in 12, the look that said he knew what a mistake it had been and if given the choice, he would take it back in a second. Scott remembers sitting next to Stiles’ dad at his kitchen table watching the interview, while Scott’s mother tried to get Stiles’ dad to eat something, sobbing, and hating himself for the relief he felt that it wasn’t him on the screen. Stiles’ father had just stared blankly at the screen, already beginning to wither away.

He killed himself a month after Stiles died.

Scott forces his face to remain impassive, and stares straight ahead of him as the music plays and the crowd quiets, Barrow beginning his ending remarks. Be strong, he tells himself, be strong for your mother.

It’s the only thing he can do, now.

 

* * *

 

No one says anything on the elevator ride back up to the 12th floor, not even Finstock.

“Get some rest,” is all Deaton says, face tight with misery, before departing quickly for his room. Scott feels bad for him, having to do this every year.

“Hey,” Harley says quietly as he turns to go into his room. “What you said...earlier. Did you...did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” Scott says with a sad smile. “I meant it. I was...I was going to ask, about tomorrow. Do you, do you want to be allies? I mean, I can’t, I can’t really run without...you know, but, I thought. It’s better than being alone.”

Harley looks at him searchingly for a second, like she doesn’t understand him at all, but nods. “Okay,” she says quietly and then hurries into her room without another word, stumbling in the high heels.

Scott spends the night alternating between fits of terror and numbness. But he does manage to get a couple hours of sleep, which is more than he expected.

Deaton wakes him up at dawn, and just the two of them head up to the roof, Harley nowhere to be seen. On his way out of the penthouse, Scott gives it one last glance.

Everything he sees now will be for the last time.

They take a hovercraft to the Arena and after a doctor injects a tracker into his arm they eat breakfast. Scott forces himself to eat as much as possible, even though his hands shake so badly that he can barely hold his spoon. He drinks three glasses of orange juice, savoring its sweet flavor. It’s likely the last sweet thing he will ever have.

It takes about an hour to get to their destination and a group of Peacekeepers take him directly to the Launch room where his clothes are waiting for him. A white undershirt, maroon sweater, a brown jacket, black wool trousers and socks, and soft leather boots. They all fit perfectly.

“Everything’s heavily-lined,” Deaton observes as Scott pulls them on. “It’s going to be cold.”

“How cold?” Scott asks in dread, his voice hoarse from sleep. It’s one of the first things he’s said all day. “Like...like Stiles’s Arena?”

He’d thought...most of the tributes had frozen to death, that Arena was so unpopular, why would they do that aga-

“No,” Deaton says, looking pained. “No, they had those heavy coats that year, remember? Not that cold.”

Scott nods, his heart pounding furiously, and he doubts it’s going to stop anytime soon. The numbness is completely gone and all that is left is the fear. He’s going to die. He’s going to _die_. Why is this happening, it’s not fair, he can’t do thi-

“Scott,” Deaton says firmly. “Look at me. Stay away from the Cornucopia. Find water. Hide.”

“Okay,” Scott chokes, feeling his eyes welling up with tears. “Can you, can you tell my mom...can you tell her I’m sorry, I-” He has to take a second to gain his composure, wiping his eyes quickly. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her that everything’s going to be okay and that I...that I love her,” he ends on a sob and ducks his head down to hide his face in his hands.

“I will,” Deaton chokes, his dark eyes filling with tears. “I will, Scott.”

A woman’s voice interrupts them over the intercom and announces it’s time to launch. Scott walks shakily over to stand on the circular metal plate in the middle of the room. He takes a series of calm breaths, wishing he was able to bring the blue inhaler with him and looks at Deaton steadily, trying to memorize his face, his miserable expression even.

“Everything...everything will be fine,” Deaton says without much conviction, looking almost as ill as Scott feels.

Scott nods tightly and cannot quite smother the terrified noise he makes when the glass cylinder lowers down around him and the metal plate he’s standing on begins to rise. Scott holds his gaze until he disappears, and then lets out a quiet sob when he’s enveloped in total darkness for a moment, the sound amplified in the enclosed space. It’s only dark for a second though, because then he’s rising up into the open air, momentarily blinded by bright sunlight.

Scott blinks furiously, and takes in the heavily wooded area, the chill air, the Cornucopia just barely within sight in front of him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!” the Head Gamemaker announces, his voice reverberating through the Arena.

Scott closes his eyes and prays for a painless death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this depressed me just editing it. resonance_and_d and I just want to give him a hug, poor baby :(
> 
> Please comment!


	3. The Games

The countdown seems to take forever. Scott looks around for Harley, but he can only see the two tributes on either side of him, the boy from District 8 and the girl from District 10, the others obscured by tall pine trees and distance. The launch pads are in a circle with a much wider diameter than usual and the Cornucopia is not in a clearing, but in the middle of the woods. Scott estimates it’s probably a several minute run from here.

“...3...2...1.”

The gong rings out and Scott leaps off his metal plate, anxious to run, to do something, but not sure what to do. Both tributes at his side immediately rush towards the Cornucopia, but he’s not planning on going near there. But he has to wait for Harley. He stands there uncertainly for a minute, wondering if he should venture closer to the Cornucopia, using the trees for cover. But surely Harley wouldn’t go there, would she?

His decision is made when the sound of a boy screaming comes from the direction of the Cornucopia. Scott slowly backs away, deeper into the woods.

He walks for a long time, checking the dirt every once in a while for dampness that could mean water is near. He finds some edible plants, some clover, young plantain, and red currant berries, which are sour, but nonetheless nutritious, and munches on them as he travels further into the Arena on his search for water. Even with the sun, it is very cold and by noon Scott wishes he had a hat and gloves, his throat sore from breathing through his mouth as he navigates the uneven terrain. He sees a couple squirrels and birds in the trees, which improves his mood considerably. If he can just get some rope...or more likely find some strong vines as a substitute he could build some snares. Maybe he could just hide out here in the woods until it was ov-

And then the cannons go off. Six of them. Scott suddenly feels weak and sits down on a flat rock next to a little hill and feels sick. Six children dead. A fourth of the tributes gone in only a few hours. It was hardly unusual for that many to die in the initial bloodbath, but...but Scott’s spent the last few days training with them, stood next to them in line in the Training Center. And now...now they’re dead.

He tells himself over and over again that Harley’s not among them. That she escaped and was wandering around the woods like he was. They’d find each other. They would.

His faith is vindicated later when night falls and the anthem plays, broadcasting the faces of the dead on the Arena sky. Girl 3, Girl 7, Boy 8, both District 9 tributes, and Girl 10. No Harley.

By this point the temperature drops to practically freezing and Scott seriously considers building a fire. He really doesn’t think anyone is even remotely close to him, but he can’t find the right branches to make it as dim as possible and eventually just buries himself in a pile of dirt and fallen leaves, sticking his hands in his pockets and head in his jacket. Sleep does not come easy.

The next day goes much the same. Scott wanders aimlessly, unsuccessful in his search for water, eating berries, roots, and leaves as he goes. He makes a slingshot and tries to get a squirrel or rabbit, but his aim is too poor and eventually he gives up.

Only two cannons sound during the day, an unusually low number for this early in the Hunger Games, and their faces are projected on the sky that night, when Scott is shivering next to the tiny fire he managed to build, blocked slightly from view by a low rock overhang, his head and mouth aching from thirst.

The pretty girl from District 5 (Kira, he thinks her name was) and the baby-faced fourteen year old from District 10.

A third dead, he thinks as he falls into an uneasy sleep. He hoped it was quick for them. Kira seemed really nice and the District 10 boy was so young…

On the third day Scott seriously begins to consider that he might die of thirst. It’s difficult to walk more than a few minutes without taking a break and his head pounds painfully.

And then, against all odds, he gets lucky. He finds a creek. And not just a creek. A cave.

After drinking his fill of water, Scott spends most of the day recovering. He explores the cave and is delighted to find that it’s far larger than it looks and dips to the right slightly so that he is not visible to anyone standing outside. He ventures outside to gather some firewood and builds a small fire. It warms up the dark space quickly and Scott even sheds his jacket, using it as a pillow and lies on his back, eating the rest of the burdock root he’d found yesterday.

Maybe he can just hide here until it’s over, Scott thinks hopefully. The Careers usually start to die after their supplies runs out. If he can just stay here, near water and food, maybe…

It’s nothing but false hope, though. The Gamemakers would never let him hide here forever. Too boring.

He falls asleep and is woken by the sound of the anthem. He frowns, because he hadn’t heard any cannons today, but that probably means they went off in his sleep. He stumbles out of the cave, shivering and pulling on his jacket as his fire had gone low while he slept and gets to the entrance to the cave just in time to see Harley’s face projected on the sky.

“Oh,” he says into the cold night air as the anthem sounds again and then her face disappears. “Oh, oh, Harley,” Disbelief courses through him, this couldn’t be right, they were supposed to be together. “Oh, Harley,” he sobs, swaying a little, before falling to his knees on the hard rocks in front of the creek. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

He manages to pick himself up and head back into the cave. He adds more fuel to the fire and curls miserably around it, trying to remember what she’d looked like the last time he’d seen her, beautiful in that bright yellow dress. It’s a good way to remember her, but Scott didn’t want to have to remember her at all. He wanted her to live.

He knows the cameras are probably on him now, if there are any cameras in here, but he doesn’t try to stop himself from sobbing quietly into his jacket. The commentators can mock his weakness if they like, Scott doesn’t care. His district partner is dead, a girl he’d gone to school with since he was six, who he sat a couple rows behind in every class. She wasn’t a loner like him, she had friends, family, a boyfriend to go back to and now they would never see her again. She would never see them. She was dead, she would never do anything again, think, feel, eat. Her life, at 16 years old, is over. Part of Scott wishes his would be too, just so that he wouldn’t have to feel this way.

 

* * *

 

Scott doesn’t move well into the next day, and the only reason he does is to relieve himself. Afterwards he sits on one of the flat rocks by the creek, the early afternoon sun beaming down brightly enough that he can almost forget how cold it is.

He should find more food, he knows. Follow the creek down further to see if he can find any fish, make some snares, collect more berries and roots. He needs to eat to keep his strength up, doubly so because he’s pretty sure he actually _lost_ weight last week in the Capitol from not eating.

But he doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay here, stare blankly into the water until he doesn’t have to feel anything anymore.

Scott closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t do that. He can’t give up and let himself fade away. He has to fight. He can fight without hurting anyone. He has to fight to stay alive for his mother. He can’t just give up, he can’t do that to her.

“Get up,” he tells himself aloud, voice hoarse from sobbing and disuse. “Stand. Up.”

He stumbles to his feet and forces himself to walk further down the creek, feeling sick with every step he takes. He sees some small fish, but none large enough to bother catching. He does find some vines curled around a tall tree that aren’t too brittle to use as rope and sets about making some snares that will hopefully catch a rabbit or squirrel. He pulls up some cattails by the creek to eat, but doesn’t find any berries except for a nightlock bush that he steers clear of. By the time he’s done, Scott is both mentally and physically exhausted. His muscles ache and he’s broken three nails ripping vines off trees. He munches on a cattail without much interest and collects more firewood on his way back to the cave. The night is cold, and Scott curls up as close to his fire as he can, wishing more than anything that Harley was here with him. The anthem does not play that night.

It doesn’t play the following night or the next either. Scott sits in his cave eating cooked rabbit that he’s surprised his snares actually managed to catch and wonders about that. He feels like a horrible person for even thinking it, but he knows that the fewer deaths there are, the more likely the Gamemakers will create natural disasters or mutts to make things more interesting. If there’s an earthquake he’ll be crushed underneath the roof of the cave.

On the sixth day of the Games is when everything changes. Scott ventures up the creek a bit to see if it gets deep enough to find bigger fish. He comes across a tree with a large bird’s nest on one of the lower branches and when he climbs it he’s pleased to discover five large speckled eggs inside, the mother nowhere to be found. He’s just carefully placing the first one in the pocket of his jacket, when he hears the sound of something crashing through the underbrush and freezes.

It’s the tall boy from District 7. His jacket is stained with dried blood, which Scott doesn’t think is his own, and he’s carrying a dark blue backpack and an ax, following the creek down looking for fish as well. He doesn’t see Scott frozen in the tree only a couple yards from the bank of the creek, but he does see one of the nightlock bushes on the other side of the creek and rushes towards them hungrily.

Scott winces as he picks one, because he was hoping he could stay up here until he went away but... “Hey!” he shouts, causing the boy to jump. “Don’t eat those, they’re poisonous!”

The boy whirls around, ax raised, and Scott brings his feet up onto the branch so he won’t try to grab him and pull him down, hoping he won’t climb up after him.

“What?” the boy says after a moment, apparently ascertaining the Scott isn’t an immediate threat.

“Those’re nightlock,” Scott explains, feeling a little strange talking to a person after six days of seeing no one. “They’re really poisonous. Kill you right away.”

The boy just stares at him blankly. He has a merchant’s coloring; curly dirty blond hair, light blue eyes, pale skin, and he looks exhausted. Starving probably.

“And why would you tell me that?” he asks suspiciously, hopping the creek and coming to stand under Scott’s tree.

“Because they’re poisonous…?” Scott says, confused.

“Yes, but why would you _tell_ me that?” the boy asks, glaring up at him. “If they were really poisonous you would just let me eat them.”

“Uh, no, I wouldn’t,” Scott says, nervously eyeing his ax. It’s not bloodstained like his jacket, but that probably means he just cleaned it off.

“You sure?” the boy says with a nasty smirk. “Can you even see them from all the way up there? Maybe you should come down and take a closer look.”

“No, I think I’m fine up here,” Scott says, beginning to sweat under his clothes even in the cold.

The boy actually looks annoyed by this, as if he seriously expected Scott to come down and let him kill him.

“Seriously, I’m not lying to you,” Scott says, hoping to pacify him. “See how they’re all still there? That’s because the birds and other animals know not to eat them.”  

The boy glances back at the nightlock bush for a second, before looking back up at Scott.

“You’re actually telling the truth, aren’t you?” he says in disgust. “Don’t tell me you actually meant what you said in your interview.”

“Yeah...yeah, I did,” Scott replies, wondering if he just sealed his fate.

“What’s wrong with you?” the boy asks after a beat. “Are you simple? You want to die or something?”

“No,” Scott says with a sad smile and a shrug. “Just don’t want to kill anyone.”

The boy looks like that’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Look, if you’re looking for food, that plant over there is edible,” Scott says, pointing at a weed growing at the foot of the tree next to him. “It’s amaranth. You can also eat the cattails by the creek and that plant with the little white flowers. Field pennycress. I can’t promise they’ll taste great, but there are a lot of them around here.”

“Prove it,” the boy says, challengingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott hesitates for a second and then realizes it’s futile. If the boy wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t even have to climb up after him- all he’d have to do is throw his ax. He climbs down carefully, landing a couple feet in front of the boy.

“I can’t believe how stupid you are,” the boy says in disbelief. He really is a head taller than Scott and Scott inhales shakily, hoping it will be quick.

“What are you just standing there for, go on,” the boy says, gesturing at the amaranth.

“Oh,” Scott says, heart pounding in his chest. He goes over to the amaranth, plucks a stalk off the weed, divests it of its prickly spines, and takes a bite. Like most uncooked wild plants, it’s incredibly bitter, especially in contrast to the Capitol food he was eating last week, but he swallows it down without complaint.

The boy gives him a skeptical look, but goes over a picks another stalk and grimaces at the taste. “Ugh, that’s horrible.”

“Yeah, they’re much better cooked,” Scott says, nervous at their close proximity.

“How do you know all this?” the boy asks, through a mouthful of the weed. “Stuff about plants, I mean.”

“I spent a lot of time at the edible plant station in training. Also, we have a lot of these at home,” Scott says without thinking, and then realizes to his horror that that sounds like goes into the woods a lot, which could get his mother in trouble. “I mean, my mother, she’s sort of like, a healer, I guess? She grows a lots of plants like this in her garden.”

“What were you doing in the tree?”

“There are eggs in that nest,” Scott says, pointing at it. He takes out the one he put in his pocket earlier and holds it out to the boy. “Want one?”

The boy stares at the egg in his open hand blankly and then reaches out to take it carefully, like he thinks Scott might rip his hand back at any second. He doesn’t say anything for a second, just stares at the egg in his hand.

“How do you eat it?” he says finally, looking back up at Scott. “Raw?”

“Yeah, you make a small hole at the top and suck the insides out. I don’t have anything to cook them in,” he says when the boy makes a face. “I mean, I guess if I found a really flat rock…”

The boy makes a small cut in the top of the egg with the tip of his ax and brings the egg up to his mouth, grimacing a little at the taste.

“I’m going to get the rest of them,” Scott says, not really sure what else to do. He’s pretty sure the boy isn’t going to kill him. Mostly sure.

Scott climbs the tree again and puts the rest of the eggs in his pockets. “I’m Scott, by the way,” he says, realizing he doesn’t know the other boy’s name.

“I know,” the boy replies, quirking his eyebrow up at him. Scott never really thought about it, but he supposes his interview was pretty memorable. He can’t really remember the District 7 boy’s though, just than him talking about his skill with an ax.

“Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Isaac,” he says shortly.

“Pleased to meet you,” Scott says politely. Isaac just stares up at him in confusion.

“Do you want to-” Scott says, knowing that this is a stupid idea, but not caring. “I could show you more plants, if...you want.”

He knows it’s dumb, but he’s just so _lonely_. It’d be nice to be around another person, even if it’s only for a little while. Scott’s been a little worried he’d go crazy.

“O-Okay,” Isaac says hesitantly, looking uncertain.

Scott beams and climbs back down the tree again. “Great! If we go down this way we can also check my snares, see if I caught another rabbit. You can have half, if you want.”

“Um, yeah,” Isaac says, stunned, color rising in his cheeks. “That’d be...that’d be great.”

His snares are empty unfortunately, but Scott spends the rest of the day showing Isaac various plants he can eat, and even finds some meadow mushrooms. One cannon goes off while Scott is picking some arrowhead out of the creek and they both go still, but after a minute of no nearby noises they relax again.

“Where are you sleeping?” Scott asks as they walk back along the creek as the sun sets.

“Just anywhere,” Isaac says with a shrug. “I was down by the river for a couple days, but then the Careers found me, so I had to leave.”

“That where that’s from?” Scott asks mildly, gesturing at the bloodstain on his jacket.

“Nope, the Cornucopia,” Isaac says easily. “Boy from 8 tried to grab my ax, but I got there first. Then he tried to stab me, so…”

“Oh,” Scott says quietly, feeling sick.

“It was...you know, self-defense,” Isaac says uncomfortably, noticing the look on his face. “What would you have done? Let him kill you?”

“I probably would have just run away,” Scott says with a shrug.

“Yeah, and then he would have got me in the back,” Isaac says, stopping and glaring at Scott.

“Okay,” Scott says, not really wanting to talk about it. “Where’s the river?”

“Way up there,” Isaac says, resuming his former pace at Scott’s side and pointing up the creek the way he came. “The creek feeds into it.”

Scott has never seen a river before and it sounds like it would be kind of cool, maybe even have fish, but he has no intention of going anywhere near the Careers if he can help it.

“You didn’t...happen to see my District partner, did you? Harley Jones?” he asks next, tense with anticipation at his answer.

“No, isn’t she dead?” Isaac says carelessly, eating another handful of thimbleberries.

“Yeah,” Scott says quietly. “I just...we were supposed to meet up, but I couldn’t find her. And I, I don’t know how she died.”

“Careers probably got her,” Isaac says fatalistically. “They’re lethal this year. The District 1 boy almost took my head off. Better to wait until they kill each other or run out of food.”

Scott doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“Sorry,” Isaac says awkwardly after a minute of walking silently. “Your partner...she was your friend?”

“Sort of,” Scott says, misery filling him at the thought of her, causing his eyes to burn slightly with tears. “I mean, we didn’t really know each other before we got Reaped, but-” He chokes a little. “We were supposed to stay together.”

“Sorry,” Isaac repeats, looking uncomfortable in the dimming light.

“I’m sorry about your partner too,” Scott says, clearing his throat, wanting to steer the conversation away from Harley. “What was her name?”

“Heather,” Isaac says with a shrug, looking away from Scott down the creek ahead of them. “It’s okay. It was probably for the best...she wasn’t cut out for this.”

How is that for the best? Scott wants to ask, but then the anthem music plays and they both look up to see the District 3 boy’s face projected on the sky.

“He was with the Careers,” Isaac says, frowning. “Guess they must have gotten sick of him.”

He’d seemed smart in his interview, if Scott is remembering him properly. Seam-looking, but tall and with actual muscles, which is unusual for 3. He was very nervous, but Scott remembers him talking about his work developing new computers.

“Ten down, fourteen to go,” Isaac says, with a grin, but the shaking of his voice ruins the effect.

“Hey, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you could stay in my cave,” Scott says suddenly, even though he knows it’s a terrible idea. He can practically see Deaton’s horrified look dancing over his vision. “I mean, it’s not _my_ cave, but I found it.”

Isaac gives him a very unimpressed look. “You’re an idiot,” he tells him flatly. And then. “Sure, why not?”

Scott knows he should object to the idiot part, but he’s just so glad he doesn’t have to spend another night alone, so he just grins happily.

It’s a tight fit in the back where no one else can see them, but Scott doesn’t mind and roasts the meadow mushrooms over the fire, feeling cheerful despite their dire situation. Isaac watches him skeptically, but doesn’t object when Scott hands him a skewer.

“So what’s your plan?” Isaac asks him after the mushrooms are gone. “Just hide around here until everyone else is dead?”

“To be honest, I sort of thought I’d be dead by now,” Scott admits. “District 12 doesn’t usually last this long.”

Isaac does not seem to like this answer and scowls down at his knees. “Do you even _want_ to survive?” he asks testily.

“Yeah, I do,” Scott says, his throat tightening a bit in grief. “But I know...I know it’s just not going to happen. So if I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather not, I don’t know, contribute to any one else’s pain.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “That make sense?”

“No,” Isaac says stiffly. “I’m going to win. I’m not just going to die in here.”

“Okay,” Scott says easily, even though he doubts it. Despite their skills with axes, District 7 rarely wins, mostly because a lot of their tributes are almost as underfed as District 12’s are. The District 7 victor who won most recently is Jennifer Blake, and even then she only won because she pretended to be weak and cowardly- no one paid her any attention until it was too late, clearly not a strategy Isaac is employing. It may explain why Heather was killed so early on, though. Maybe somebody thought she was trying the same thing. Isaac is tall, but he’s skinny, and Scott doubts he could go up against any one of the Careers, even the tiny District 1 girl, and come out alive. But he certainly has more of a chance that Scott himself does.

Scott curls close to the fire to sleep, but Isaac doesn’t follow his lead. Instead he pulls a wool blanket out of his backpack and wraps himself in it, using his jacket as a pillow. Scott is immediately jealous and wonders what else he has in the bag, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he shuts his eyes and tries not to shiver when a gust of wind blows through the cave.

 

* * *

 

The next day goes much the same. He and Isaac spend most of the day looking for food, wandering up and down the creek and the woods beside it, but not too far from water for fear of getting lost. Isaac seems to be perpetually hungry and when Scott notices him eyeing the squirrel caught in one of his snares hungrily, he lets him have most of it. He’s okay, Isaac. He says some terrible things and is clearly trying to pretend he’s tough and unaffected by anything, but he gets shy and awkward in the face of Scott’s generosity, like he’s still not sure what to think of it.

No cannons sound during the day, but that night a huge storm rolls through the Arena. Scott and Isaac are mostly sheltered from the rain in their cave, but the wind still gets through the cracks, causing their fire to go out twice. A cannon sounds, but they have no way of knowing who it’s for, and to be honest, at this point Scott doesn’t really care.

“Okay, this is stupid,” Isaac says as Scott tries to build the fire up again. “Leave that and come over here.”

“What?”

“Come here,” Isaac says tersely, peeling the blanket back and gesturing at the ground at his side.

“Uh, are you sure?” Scott asks, even though he’s freezing and the blanket does look very warm. He’s never slept in a bed with anyone but his mother and Stiles, and he smells terrible from not washing.

“Get over here,” Isaac says bad-temperedly. “Just don’t do anything weird.”

“What do you mean, anything weird?” Scott asks, confused, but he scoots over hesitantly at Isaac’s side and puts his bunched up jacket down next to him.

Isaac looks at him as if he’s trying to tell if he’s joking or not and then rolls his eyes, muttering something insulting about District 12’s backwardness.

Scott scowls at the insult, but almost groans in relief when Isaac wraps the blanket over him and presses his warm side against his.

“Thanks,” Scott says.

“Go to sleep,” Isaac orders, sounding annoyed, and Scott closes his eyes obediently, trying not to feel guilty for making him uncomfortable.

When he wakes up, though, Isaac is draped halfway over him, nose pressed to his neck, his hair against Scott’s cheek. He’s heavy and reeks, but he’s very warm, and Scott doesn’t push him off, just stares up at the cave ceiling, bright morning light shining through the entrance.

It’s a nice way to wake up, he thinks, smiling a bit. Isaac shifts a bit against him, his hair brushing further against Scott’s cheek and Scott resists the urge to reach up with his hand and touch it curiously. He’s never been so close to someone with hair so light and curly and he wonders what it would feel like between his fingers, but he knows it’s rude to touch someone without their permission, so he refrains.

Eventually he needs to relieve himself though, and has to wake Isaac up. Isaac is a deep sleeper and doesn’t seem to want to get off him, but with enough shaking he rolls off him and cocoons himself in the blanket away from the morning light. It’s kind of adorable and Scott suppresses a smile as he exits the cave. He’s completely awake when Scott comes back though.

That day he and Isaac survey the wreckage from the storm, fallen trees and branches mostly, and go around sipping rainwater collected in the basins of wide leaves and resetting Scott’s snares, which were ruined by the storm. They eat chicory flowers and burdock roots for lunch and then Scott attempts to wash himself off in the creek, even though the water’s freezing. Isaac rolls up his sleeves and pants and washes his feet, legs, arms and hair, but he doesn’t seem to want to take his shirt off, which Scott does not blame him for considering how cold it is.  

The next two days are quiet. No cannons, no storms, or other natural disasters. He can tell Isaac is worried about it as well, but neither of them dare talk about it for fear of tempting the Gamemakers. Instead, they talk about their Districts. Scott knows very little about District 7 other than they produce lumber and Isaac knows just as little about District 12.

“So you have no rivers or forests in District 12?” Isaac says disbelievingly as they wait for a rabbit to cook over the fire. “Where do you get your water?”

“Wells,” Scott replies, taking a bite of bitter curled dock and making a face. “And yeah, we just have mines. I mean, I’ve seen a forest before, but that’s beyond the fence and we’re not allowed to go out there.”

“District 12 sounds terrible,” Isaac says unequivocally, rolling up his left pant leg to retie his bootlace. “I can’t imagine not being able to go out into the wo-okay, seriously, why you keep staring at my legs?”

“Sorry!” Scott squeaks, feeling his face turn red in embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s just, I...I’ve never seen blond leg hair before.”

Isaac looks bewildered. “What? You don’t have _blond_ people in Dist-no, yes, you do, your tribute two years ago had blonde hair.”

“Yeah, she was a merchant, though,” Scott explains, still embarrassed at being caught staring. “We don’t really mix with them.”

“‘We?’”

“Miners,” Scott explains. “People from the Seam. Like me. We have dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. And the merchants all have blond or brown hair and have light skin, like your’s.”

“So, there are no blond miners?” Isaac asks, looking extremely confused. “Your jobs are all based on what you _look like_?”

“I...yeah, I guess,” Scott says, having never thought about it like that. “You mean it’s not like that in 7? You’d talk to someone like me there?”

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Isaac says, like that should be obvious. “What do you mean, they don’t _talk to you_ in 12?”

“I mean, we don’t mix much,” Scott repeats. “They don’t really like us, you know, because…” He gestures at his face.

“Because what?”

“Because we’re from the Seam,” Scott explains lamely.

“So, they don’t like you,” Isaac says slowly. “Because you look different.” He pauses. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I guess,” Scott says, because he supposes to an outsider it would be. “I mean, my mother and I deal with them occasionally if the apothecary can’t help. She treats injuries and delivers babies and…”

Scott trails off, because of course he can’t say everything his mother does. Helping desperate women end their pregnancies is technically illegal, though Scott doesn’t know why when so many people in 12 are starving. That’s not something merchant women usually come to his mother for, mostly poor women from the Seam with too many mouths to feed already or unwed girls whose Seam boyfriends won’t marry them or who were used and tossed aside by merchant boys. No, merchant women avoid coming to the Seam unless they’re absolutely desperate. Like after their wedding nights, pale, red-eyed, and shaking. Some completely in dark about what a wedding night was supposed to consist of. Scott’s not supposed to be there when she treats them, but he’d overheard enough to almost be glad the likelihood of him getting married was practically zero, even before he got Reaped. He wouldn’t ever want to be the cause of such pain to his wife.

“You deliver babies?” Isaac asks, looking impressed.

“What, no, of course, _I_ don’t,” Scott says, giving him an odd look. “I’m a boy.”

“Men don’t deliver babies in 12?”

“No,” Scott says, because what woman would want some strange man doing that? “They do in 7?”

“I mean, yeah, if they’re a doctor.”

“You don’t have midwives?”

“I have no idea what that is,” Isaac tells him.

District 7 is a weird place, Scott thinks privately.

“So your dad’s a miner?” Isaac asks next as they devour their rabbit.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “My mom is too, though. She had to be, after he left.”

“He left?”

“Well, my mom kicked him out,” Scott says, scowling at the thought of him. “He spent all our money on drink.”

“Yeah, my dad did that,” Isaac says, and Scott looks up at him in surprise. “After my mom died. Then he got worse after my brother died, and finally passed out on the way home from the tavern one winter and froze to death.”

“I-” Scott says, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

Isaac just shrugs. “He was kind of a dick.” Though he doesn’t look up at Scott while he says it.

Suddenly, Scott wants to tell him about Stiles. About how they grew up together, were almost brothers. How Stiles practically lived with them as his mother slowly wasted away and then after, when his father spent two months drinking his sorrow away at the Hob. How Stiles always stuck by him, defended him from the kids who teased him after his dad left, from the merchants who made fun of his asthma. How he’s the reason Stiles is dead.

He can’t tell him any of that, though, because all of Panem is listening. And they don’t get to hear that, his grief, his guilt. The Gamemakers might try and use it against him.

Besides, he wouldn’t be able to get through one sentence without bursting into tears.

“Your mom nice?” Isaac asks after a minute of silence.

“Yeah,” Scott says waveringly, suddenly hit with a wave of how much he misses her. How much he wishes he could see her just one last time. “Yeah, she’s...she’s the best. I just...I just hope she’ll be okay, you know?” Scott takes a shuddering breath and wipes the moisture away from his eyes, unable to say anymore without sobbing.

Isaac says nothing.

That night they huddle together for warmth, like the last two nights even though they’re able to keep the fire going. Despite his earlier reticence, Isaac is actually very clingy in his sleep, always clutching Scott tightly and burrowing his cold nose in his neck. Scott doesn’t mind. It’s nice actually, to have human contact. To feel needed.

The next morning, though, Scott wakes up alone under the blanket. He sits up in confusion, rubbing sleep out of his eyes muzzily, and spots Isaac sitting across the cave near the entrance.

“Hey,” he says, and then frowns when he realizes Isaac’s eyes are red and swollen from crying. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Isaac says, a sort of calmness radiating off him that Scott’s unsure what to make of.

“You sure?” Scott asks, pushing the blanket off him and getting to his feet, stretching a bit to relieve the aches in his body from sleeping on the cold hard ground.

He walks over beside Isaac to look at him worriedly but Isaac stands up and turns his face away, shrugging on his jacket.

“C’mon, let’s go get something to eat,” Isaac says in the same calm tone, picking up his ax.

He turns around at the entrance when Scott doesn’t move, smiling softly at him. “C’mon, aren’t you hungry?”

Scott goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think anyone guessed who Isaac was, so maybe I'm being too subtle with my hints. I actually have a whole spreadsheet made up to keep track of the tributes, even though most of them are never named, because I'm obsessive like that. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	4. The Career

They're as far upstream as Scott's ever been, trying to catch one of the long white fish that Isaac thinks he's eaten before when it happens.

"Seriously, that is just not going to work, " Isaac says with a laugh, when Scott lunges for a fish and it slips out of his grip, causing him to lose his balance and fall in the creek for the third time. "Look at you, you're soaked!"

"I don't see you having much luck either,” Scott says with a scowl, getting to his feet and shaking water off his clothes as best he can, trying not to shiver. His trousers and undershirt really are sopping. He'll have to dry them by the fire tonight, but at least he had the sense to take off his sweater and jacket before stepping in the creek. "You're not going to get any with that ax, we need to sharpen a stick or something. Like a spear."

"Guess I have perfect timing then," a male voice drawls from behind them. They spin around to see the blond blue-eyed District 6 boy standing on the bed of the creek, holding a long spear, flanked by his smirking partner and the terrified-looking male tribute from District 5. He lifts the spear.

"Run!" Isaac bellows, grabbing Scott's arm and pulling him through the ankle-deep water to the other side of the creek, leaving their shoes and socks behind. They run into the cover of trees ahead of them and Scott feels the whistle of the spear barely miss his side, the yells of the District 6 girl ringing in his ears. They run through the forest for barely a minute before Scott's chest tightens horribly and he can't get any air into his lungs. Isaac pulls even further ahead of him and Scott stumbles and sags against the trunk of a large oak, trying to hide himself behind it while he gasps for breath.

"What are you doing? " Isaac hisses, realizing he isn't following him anymore. Scott is bent over clutching his chest so he can't see his face, but he sounds angry. Scott hears him come closer. "What's wrong with you, c'mon!"

"Can't, " Scott gasps, vision starting to go blurry with lack of air. "Can't run."

"They're coming, c'mon!" Isaac says desperately, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him with him.

Scott stumbles and falls face-first into his shoulder. "You...need...to go," he says pushing off him and sagging back against the tree. The bark is rough against his back, only his thin undershirt in between his skin and the tree, but he barely notices because of the pain in his feet from running barefoot through the woods. "I can't...can't..."

It's over, this is it. He had a good run, lasted almost eleven days, a lot more than 12 usually did. It was a nice dream, hiding away in a cave with Isaac, but that's over now. It was always going to end like this. All he can do now is make sure he doesn't drag Isaac down with him.

"You...just go, " he chokes, eyes stinging with tears of pain. "You have to-"

Isaac looks horrified, still gripping Scott's left forearm tightly. "No, I'm not just going to-" He cuts off at the sound of approaching footsteps, looking back behind Scott to the way they came for a second before turning back to him, his expression morphing from uncertain and afraid to determined.

"Stay here," he tells Scott firmly, pushing him back against the tree a little. "I'll lead them away."

"W-what?" Scott says, because no, that isn't how it's supposed to go, Isaac has to _run_. "Isaac, you can't, there's three of them, they'll _kill_ yo-"

Isaac lunges forward, cupping Scott's face in his hands, and kisses him right on the mouth.

He pulls back before Scott can even totally understand what just happened, still struggling to breathe.

“Wait ‘til they’re gone,” Isaac says shortly, and then he leaps out from behind the tree, ax raised.

“Hey, over here, assholes!” he shouts, running off in the other direction. “C’mon, I’m right here! Come and get me!”

“Don’t,” Scott wants to say, but he doesn’t have the energy, sagging down to the ground and clutching his chest, listening to the sounds of their pursuers fading away.

He sits there for a long time, longer than it usually takes for his asthma attacks to subside. Even after it finally does and he can breathe clearly, he doesn’t dare move, just sits there, shivering violently, ears straining for the sound of a cannon.

Half an hour passes, the sun high in the sky, and Scott allows himself to hope…

But that was stupid, because of course then it sounds.

Scott hides his face in his hands and sobs. “I-Isaac, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cries and hates himself. Why does this keep happening? He can’t keep doing this, getting everyone he cares about killed. He shouldn’t even be alive anymore. He was never meant to make it this far, and now he’s just gotten the closest thing to a friend he’s had in years killed. It’d be better if it was just over, if he could just…

He cries until he can’t anymore and then just sits there, so cold he can’t even shiver anymore, numb. He doesn’t want to move. He...he’s done.

Why was he even born? he thinks as the sun begins to set, slowing losing feeling in his fingers and toes. There’s no point to him; all he does is be a burden on the people around him. His mother, Stiles, Isaac… His mother would have been able to start over if not for him. Find a man who wouldn’t drink away all their money, if not for the fact that she had a child to raise. Stiles wouldn’t have volunteered in his place, a gesture now made meaningless with his own death three years later. He had a much higher chance of escaping the Reaping completely than Scott did- his father never let him put his name in more times for the tesserae. And Isaac...maybe Isaac could have won. Or at least his death would have been quick and painless if he’d just eaten the nightlock. It’s better if Scott just dies now before he can do anymore damage, unwittingly cause the death of yet another per-

“Scott!” someone hisses and Scott jerks his head around in shock to see Isaac approaching him, looking worn-out and exhausted in the late afternoon light. “What are you still doing here, why didn’t you go back to the cave?”

Scott just stares at him, unsure if he’s really there or if he’s hallucinating. “How-” he croaks, hope starting to burgeon in his chest.

“You’re...Scott, you’re freezing!” Isaac says in shock and then drops down beside him, taking Scott’s numb hands in his own. Scott watches in shock as he takes off his jacket, pulls off Scott’s wet undershirt and maneuvers Scott into it.

“I thought,” Scott chokes as Isaac rubs his hands up and down his arms, trying to get him warm. “The cannon, I thought you were-”

“Wasn’t me,” Isaac says, moving to Scott’s feet and trying to warm them. “I don’t know who it was, I lost them after a while-why did you just stay here, you should have gone back to the cave!”

“Why did I-?” Scott repeats angrily, tears starting to burn at his eyes again. “Why did you do that? You should have just run! You could’ve been _killed_!”

“Hey, I saved your life!” Isaac replies, looking confused at Scott’s response, the idea that he could have died today not seeming to bother him.

“I didn’t ask f-for that!” Scott says, starting to shiver again, wiping the tears angrily off his face. “You shouldn’t have done that! You could have _died_!”

“Well, you _definitely_ would have died!” Isaac shoots back, glaring at him, but he doesn’t stop warming Scott’s feet in his hands. “They would have _killed_ you if I hadn’-”

“So?” Scott says, looking at him defiantly.

Isaac’s hands stop moving and he just stares at him, looking incredibly lost.

“ _Isaac_ ,” Scott says miserably, wiping his eyes again and then leaning back against the tree trunk again so he doesn't have to look at him. “I’m...I’m going to die anyway. Just, p-please, don’t...don’t do that again.”

“Don’t say that,” Isaac snaps mutinously. “Don’t, just-”

“Why not? It’s true!” Scott says and then bites his tongue at the self-defeating way that comes out.

“Look,” Scott says when Isaac doesn’t say anything, turning his head back towards him. “I don’t want you to get hurt, o-okay? Not ever and not because of me.”

Isaac doesn’t appear to know what to say to that, staring at Scott with wide, surprised eyes. After a second he clenches his jaw and stands, reaching down to pull Scott to his feet. “C’mon,” he says shortly. “Let’s go.”

It takes them about an hour to get back to the cave. Scott can’t really walk and both their feet are covered in small cuts and splinters from running around the forest barefoot. They manage to find their way back even in the dark and Isaac immediately sets Scott down against the wall and starts a fire. After the fire is crackling and sending a warm wave through the dark space Isaac pulls Scott’s wet trousers down his legs, Scott too exhausted to protest. They don’t really talk and Isaac must be even more tired than Scott because he falls asleep almost as soon as he lies down under the blanket next to Scott, pressing his chest to Scott’s back and wrapping an arm over his waist in an effort to keep him warm. Scott can’t sleep, though, and stares for a long time into the fire. He’s warm and safe now, not alone, with a friend even, but he can’t ward off the misery that settles heavy in his chest.

Scott hides his face in his shoulder and sobs as quietly as he can. He can’t do this anymore. He just wants it to be over. He wants to go home, wants his mother, wants Harley, Stiles, _everyone_ to still be alive. He wants to not have to live in a world where children are forced to murder each other for entertainment every year, wants to not be so weak and useless that he puts the people around him in danger. He’s going to get Isaac killed, he can _see_ it coming, and he wants Isaac to run, to get away while he still can, and he doesn’t understand why he won't. He wants a way out and there isn’t one.

Another cannon sounds and a couple minutes later Isaac jerks awake when the anthem begins playing. Scott hides his face further in his shoulder, but Isaac gets up and goes outside to see who it’s for.

“District 2 boy and District 5 boy,” Isaac says, coming back into the cave a minute later. “I bet the District 6 tributes killed him,” he says darkly. “I heard them yelling at him because he didn’t want to chase me.”

Scott remembers the terrified look on the fourteen year old’s face and is not surprised. He really did not look like he wanted to be there.

“Still, one of the Careers is dead,” Isaac says more cheerfully, coming back to lie down next to Scott again. “Hopefully the rest of them’ll kill each other off now. Take the 6’s with them, too. Those two are crazy, I didn’t know they made them like that in 6.”

Scott grunts in affirmation, not wanting to raise his head lest Isaac notice he was crying. Isaac wraps his arm around Scott’s waist and snuggles into his back.

“Get some sleep,” he says fondly and Scott closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. He falls asleep eventually, but not before he wonders if this is the last night they’ll sleep together like this.

 

* * *

 

Scott treats their feet with a salve of some yarrow and plantain leaves he’d been saving for the occasion and then they make their way carefully back up the creek to get their abandoned boots and socks, as well as his sweater and jacket. They walk in silence, ears straining for the sound of approaching tributes, circumventing sharp rocks and sticks carefully as they go.

Fortunately it appears the District 6 tributes didn’t come back to steal their stuff, and Isaac moans in pleasure as he pulls on the thick wool socks and brown leather boots. Scott is similarly relieved as he pulls on his sweater and jacket, grateful to be wearing something warm in this cold climate.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Isaac says, walking a few steps in his boots testingly. “Don’t want to hang around here in case the 6’s come back.”

“Okay,” Scott says. He looks at Isaac hesitantly, wanting to say something- thank him, tell him to get away while he still can, apologize for being such a burden- but he can’t think of the words. It annoys him because he’s so grateful that Isaac’s here, to not be alone, and he knows he should tell him that, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to tell him that he wants Isaac to win. It doesn’t sound like he has anyone back at home, his entire family dead, and he doesn’t deserve to die here so young, with only tragedies in his short life. But he thinks Isaac might get mad at him if he tried. “Yeah, let’s go back.”

Scott glances upstream one last time to look for any sign of movement and his eyes catch on something black in the water. He frowns and walks a couple paces forward to see what it is. It’s long and bobbing in the water, like it’s caught on something, the bottom of the creek maybe, but Scott can’t think of anything around here that would be that blac-

It’s a pair of legs.

Scott rushes forward without thinking, running up the bank of the creek until he gets close enough to see who it is.

It’s the girl from 2.

“Scott, what the hell are you doi-” Isaac says, running up behind him. “Oh, shit.”

She’s lying in the shallows, probably having floated down the creek until it became too shallow to go any further. She’s not moving, her eyes shut and long dark hair loose in the water, but Scott sees her chest rise and fall shallowly.

“Is she dea- Hey, what are you doing?” Isaac says, when Scott reaches out and pulls her out of the water and onto the creek bed.

“She’s alive,” Scott says in wonder, watching her face twitch almost imperceptibly. There’s a slash in her left side and her brown jacket is stained with blood around the wound, but it’s not a lot, so Scott doesn’t think it’s deep. He cradles her head gently and feels around for a bump, sighing in relief when his hands don’t come away red.

“Yeah, we should do something about that,” Isaac says, glaring down at the girl and raising his ax.

“No, what are you doing?!” Scott says, horrified, blocking her body from him protectively.

“Killing her before she kills us,” Isaac says, looking disgusted. “She might look all harmless now, but she tried to shoot me with an arrow a couple days ago and she’s a _Career_. No way can we let her live.”

“You’re not going to kill her!” Scott says, feeling sick at Isaac’s willingness to kill an unconscious girl. “We have to help her!”

“ _What_?” Isaac blurts out. “No, what is wrong with you?! Do you not understand how dangerous she is? How many people she’s probably killed? She’d kill us in a second if she had the chance and if we want to live we have to kill her before she wakes up. Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.”

“You are _not_ killing her!” Scott orders, standing up and preventing Isaac from getting anywhere near her. “She’s _hurt_! We have to help her!”

“No way in hell,” Isaac says, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I am not risking my life to help a _Career_.”

“I hate you,” Isaac says ten minutes later, as they drag the District 2 girl back to the cave. “This is a terrible idea and it’s going to get us killed.”

“Be careful, don’t put any strain on her wound,” Scott warns, the girl’s limp arms over their shoulders, Scott clutching her waist carefully below the slash in her jacket.

“Don’t get pissed at me if she wakes up and kills us,” Isaac says fatalistically.

“She’s not going to kill us, we’re helping her.”

“I will never stop wondering how you’ve managed to live this long,” Isaac says, sounding suddenly painfully like Stiles and Scott’s heart clenches at the thought.

They get her back to the cave and Scott unzips her jacket and carefully peels back her sweater and undershirt to get a look at the wound, feeling like a creep. His mom would understand, right?

“Okay, it’s not that bad,” Scott says in relief, examining the shallow cut carefully. It’s long, spanning her seventh rib all the way down to her abdomen near her belly button, but it’s not that deep. It is bright red with infection, however, and from experience Scott can tell that it needs to be treated quickly otherwise she’s going to get sick.

And speaking of sick. “Um, we’re going to have to get her out of these wet clothes,” Scott says awkwardly, feeling his face turning red.

Isaac gives him a flat, suspicious look.

“She’ll get sick, otherwise!” Scott protests, his ears heating up as well now.

“Yeah, that would be terrible,” Isaac says sarcastically. “Don’t expect me to help, I’ve filled my quota of suicidal bullshit for today.”

Scott decides that it’s best to get this over with quickly and strips off all her clothes except her underwear and black brassiere, pointedly looking at her clothes in her hands instead of her pale skin.

“Huh, not bad,” Isaac says, looking her up and down.

“Isaac!” Scott hisses, horrified. “Don’t _look_ at her! Hand me the blanket!”

Isaac sighs and entirely too leisurely walks over to the other side of the cave and brings back the blanket. Scott covers her with it, pulling the side back a little just enough so that he see the entire cut.

“Are you serious, she’s _unconscious_ ,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think she cares if you look at her tits.”

“It’s not proper,” Scott says stiffly, a little grossed out by Isaac’s behavior.

Isaac laughs. “Oh, wait, you’re _serious_? Wow, I never knew 12’s were such prudes.”

“Just, no, you shouldn’t look at girls when they’re...she’s _unconscious_ ,” Scott says, starting to get upset, his face heating up. “It’s not right to-she wouldn’t want-”

“Okay, okay, relax,” Isaac says grumpily, holding his hands up defensively. “Your weird rules apply to boys too?”

“What?” Scott says, confused.

“If she were a boy, would you be all weird about undressing her?” Isaac asks pointedly.

No, probably not, Scott thinks. It was just different. Besides, both he and Isaac were boys; it wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t seen before. But he thinks about if it were him, if he woke up with his clothes gone and two strangers were just _looking_ at him…

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott says hesitantly. He stands up and scrapes up the remaining yarrow salve that he’d made this morning. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now. “I need to go out and find some coptis root, maybe goldenseal, or comfrey...calendula petals would be best, but I think it’s too cold here for them.”

“You really want to spend all that energy on _her_?” Isaac says as Scott gently smoothes the salve over her wound. “What about food?”

“Can you find some?” Scott says hopefully. “Just anything we’ve eaten before. If you’re not sure you can bring it back and I’ll look at it, but don’t eat any.”

Isaac scowls, but doesn’t protest, picking up his ax and heading outside without complaint.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” Scott tells the girl, looking down at her unconscious face worriedly.

Scott finds some coptis, but the roots aren’t developed enough yet. He can’t find any goldenseal, but he does find some comfrey growing in the shade of a tree just feet from the creek after about an hour and he’s so happy he could nearly cry. He brings it back to the cave and makes a salve out of it immediately and puts it on the girl’s wound. He wishes he had some clean cloth to make a compress out of it, but all his clothes are too dirty, so this will have to do. She doesn’t move at all while he applies it, breathing steadily, and when he presses the back of his hand to her forehead she doesn’t feel hot. Still, he builds up the fire again using the embers from this morning and waits for Isaac to get back.

Isaac returns about an hour later, a rabbit carcass in one hand and a handful of cattails and clover. He skins it himself using his ax (a far more efficient way than using his bare hands, which was what Scott unfortunately had to do before they teamed up) and they cook it over the fire, munching on bitter plants while they wait, Scott practically drooling at the smell. He finds himself more hungry than he’s been in days, though he does feel a little guilty eating it all instead of saving some for the girl when she wakes up. It was a very small rabbit though.

The girl doesn’t stir all day, but just as the sun is setting she groans and shifts under the blanket, trying to roll over onto her side.

“Hey, don’t move, you’ve been hurt,” Scott says, getting up and trying to go to her, but Isaac gets up as well and grabs him, holding him back.

“You idiot, be careful!” he hisses, glancing between the girl and his ax leaned up against the cave wall nervously.

The girl doesn’t appear to hear him and lets out a soft sound of pain as she strains her wound.

“Isaac-!”

“Don’t!” he snarls, grabbing onto Scott’s side and holding him firmly.

The girl pushes herself into a seated position, the blanket falling to her waist and exposing her upper body. She surveys her surroundings, eyes darting around the cave and finally landing on them.

She stares at them for a second, expression betraying nothing. Then she seems to realize she’s in her underwear and yanks the blanket back up to cover her chest defensively.

“Where are my clothes?” she asks, very calmly.

“I…” Scott says, blushing. “They were wet, from the creek, I didn’t want you to get sick...I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t look or…”

The girl doesn’t respond to this, just looks at both of them calculatingly. Like she’s trying to figure out the most efficient way of killing them both. What she finds seems to put her at ease because she lets the blanket fall to her waist and the tension in her shoulders seems to loosen.

“You should bring them to me,” she tells them, gesturing at her still-damp clothes laid out on the ground by the fire to dry, “and I’ll consider not killing you.”

“Bring it on, bitch,” Isaac says viciously, making to grab his ax.

“Isaac, no!” Scott tells him, holding him back now.

The girl does not seem particularly worried about Isaac’s threat. Instead she examines the wound on her side quickly and glares up at Scott.

“What is this?” she asks coldly, gesturing to the salve on her wound.

“Yarrow and comfrey,” Scott explains as non-threateningly as possibly, wishing she would cover herself. “They prevent infection and speed up the healing process.”

“And _why_ did you put this on me?” she asks after a brief pause, and Scott thinks she’s confused, but he can’t really tell. She has a great poker face.

“Well, you were in the creek for awhile, it seemed, I didn’t want it to get infected.”

The girl’s mask shows no sign of breaking, but her eyes move from him to Isaac after a beat.

“Is he stupid or something?” she asks Isaac derisively.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Isaac snaps, even though he’s called Scott stupid at least twice a day every day they’ve spent together.

“This is the Hunger Games,” the girl tells him slowly, like she thinks he’s simple. “You don’t drag your adversaries out of creeks and heal their wounds. You kill them.”

“Well, I do,” Scott says unapologetically. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

The girl just blinks at him, perplexed.

“I’m Scott, by the way,” Scott says politely and then gestures to Isaac, without letting go of his forearm. “And this is Isaac.”

“Allison Argent,” the girl responds automatically. She looks at them coldly. “I really do think you should bring me my clothes now.”

“Uh, I think they’re still wet,” Scott says, looking over at them by the fire. “Sorry. And you shouldn’t really move around yet anyway. You must’ve hit your head pretty hard to pass out for that long. You probably have a concussion.”

“Believe me, I am perfectly able to take care of myself,” she says threateningly.

“Yeah, you say that, but you didn’t look that hot floating in the creek this morning,” Isaac says with a sneer. “Your district partner’s dead too. Guess you 2’s aren’t so scary after all.”

“If you mean to shock me by bringing up my partner’s death then you’re wasting your time,” Allison says without an iota of remorse, “considering I’m the one who killed him.”

Scott feels himself go cold. “Why?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“He betrayed me,” Allison replies with a careless shrug. “Matt was never much one for honor.”

“Oh,” Scott says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion flits across Allison’s face, quickly replaced by wariness.

“Um, are you hungry?” Scott asks, looking down at the collection of leftover cattails next to the fire. “We don’t have much, but you should probably eat something to keep your strength up.”

Allison looks at him unimpressively and then turns toward Isaac again.

“What is wrong with him?” she asks, an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice.

“You’re the one there’s something wrong with,” Isaac shoots back. He wrests his arm out of Scott’s grip and sits down next to his ax against the cave way. “You try anything and I’ll chop off your head,” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Noted,” she says, but in the most dismissive way possible, causing Isaac’s scowl to deepen.

Allison is unimpressed at the cattails Scott offers her and refuses to eat any until Scott himself eats some to prove they’re not poisonous. She grimaces at the taste, and Scott wonders if she’s solely been living off the supplies from the Cornucopia until now. Still, she eats them all and without complaint, not taking her eyes off him or Isaac as she chews.

“So there are twelve of us left?” she asks after she finishes eating, putting down the water bottle from Isaac’s backpack that Scott’d filled with water from the creek and wrapping the blanket around herself in a single graceful movement that she somehow manages to make look dangerous at the same time.

“Eleven,” Isaac says shortly, watching her suspiciously.

“That’s a lot for this late in the Games,” she says idly, scooting backwards so she can lean up against the far wall of the cave. “Though I suppose that’s what you get when you make the Arena this big.”

“So where are your Career friends?” Isaac asks, not bothering to hide his hostility. “Still trying to pick everyone off as a group? Not doing such a great job, are we?”

“Matt and I were allied with District 1 and the District 4 girl,” Allison says easily, not at all unwilling to give them information about her allies. “Aiden went out on his own a couple days ago. Though I can’t imagine Cora will stay with Jackson and Lydia long now that Matt and I are gone.”

“They still camped out by the river?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t go up there if I were you, though,” Allison says dismissively. “The south bank is mined.”

“Mined?” Scott says in shock. He’d never seen mines used in the Games before. “How-”

“From around the metal plates that brought us into the Arena,” she explains, combing through her dark hair with her fingers. “The District 3 boy reactivated them for us before he ran off and got himself killed.” She pauses for a second. “Though considering Matt was the one who told me that, I suppose it’s fairly likely that he killed him.”

She does not seem particularly bothered by the idea, Scott notices with a twinge.

“So, who killed his district partner?” Isaac asks pointedly and Scott feels himself go cold at the reference to Harley. “Was it you?”

“No, it was Jackson,” Allison replies carelessly.

“How do we know you aren’t lying?” Isaac says accusingly, while Scott feels sick, trying not to imagine poor tiny Harley being murdered by the vicious District 1 boy.

“You don’t,” Allison tells him coolly. “But it wasn’t me. I killed the District 9 tributes and the District 10 girl at the Cornucopia and Matt last night, but not his partner.” She turns to Scott slightly. “It was quick, if that makes you feel any better. Snapped her neck easily. Jackson doesn't play with his food.”

That does not make Scott feel any better. Legs feeling weak, he sits down across from Isaac next to the fire, trying desperately not to cry as he imagines how scared she must have been.

“And you want to _help_ her,” Isaac says in disgust. “I told you, she’s a _Career_. They’ll kill anyone for anything.”

“I don’t think survival is _anything_ ,” Allison says, an edge of something in her voice, even though her expression is utterly blank. “I don’t have a death wish like you two idiots. I plan to win.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Isaac says scornfully.

“I sleep fine, actually, secure in the knowledge th-”

“Alright, enough,” Scott says hoarsely. “Stop arguing.”

Allison looks irritated and rolls her eyes at Isaac, but surprisingly both of them fall silent.

Scott stares into the fire and takes deep slow breaths, trying to maintain his composure. It doesn’t change anything, he tells himself, knowing how she died. She’s been dead for almost a week. He can’t stop picturing it, though, imagining her terror, how her parents must have felt watching their daughter’s last moments…

A cannon sounds and Scott half-heartedly raises his head to look towards the entrance of the cave. Thirty seconds later another one sounds and Allison’s lips twitch upwards.

“Well, there’s some good news, at least,” she says smugly.

Disgust wells up in him and Scott has to restrain himself from saying something he might regret. He feels like an idiot, because what did he expect? She was District _2_. According to Deaton, both her aunt and grandfather were victors, and she’d most likely been training for this her entire life. He shouldn’t be surprised at her complete lack of respect for human life. It’s pathetic, how miserable he feels at this realization. He was so energetic before, so excited to be able to do something useful, to help someone. What kind of person is he, that he thrives off of the pain of others so he can get an ego boost from helping them?

Scott doesn’t really want her here anymore. It’s not that he regrets helping her because he doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to be around someone who doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with murdering innocent children. He can’t make her leave though, not in her state, and so he remembers what his mother taught him, to be extra kind to people you don’t like. Spread kindness instead of cruelty.

“Are you cold?” he asks Allison, noticing the way she’s sitting with her arms around her knees under the blanket. “Do you want to come sit by the fire?”

Allison looks at him like he just asked her if she’d like to dance around naked. “I’m fine here,” she says suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him.

Isaac scoffs and Scott looks at him disappointedly. He rolls his eyes.

Another cannon sounds and Isaac pushes off the wall to sit up straight. “Wow, what the hell happened?”

“Two groups must have ran into each other,” Allison says shrewdly, adjusting the blanket so that only her head is sticking out. “My guess is the 11’s finally came out of hiding. I hit the girl in the leg at the Cornucopia, but she and her partner both got away. They’re faster than they look.”

“What?” she says harshly when both he and Isaac just look at her in disgust.

Isaac opens his mouth, no doubt to say something insulting, but fortunately the anthem starts playing outside and they all stand up to see who just died.

It’s not the 11’s. The District 1 boy’s face flashes onto the sky first and is followed by both District 6 tributes who’d tried to kill him and Isaac yesterday.

“Huh,” Isaac says after the music ends. “Guess it is good news.”

Scott says nothing. He’s made it to the final eight, which means for the first time in years news crews will converge on 12 to interview his parents and all his acquaintances. He doesn’t want to think about them cornering his mother, forcing her to speak about her son’s inexorably slow journey towards death.

Allison’s clothes are dry when they go back inside and she waits until he puts them down and backs away before pulling them on quickly. Then she settles back against the cave wall and watches them suspiciously.

“Guess I’m not getting my blanket back,” Isaac scowls, glaring at Allison.

Scott has done very little today, but he’s suddenly exhausted and lies down next to the fire.

Eight tributes left. Won’t be long now.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up a couple hours later, the fire low and dim. He’s not entirely sure what woke him up, shifting a little under the weight of Isaac snoring softly on his chest, when he looks up to see Allison standing over them, reaching for the hilt of Isaac’s ax that he’d loosened his grip on during the night. He freezes as she picks it up, testing the weight of it in her hand. It’s only when she pulls back that she realizes that he’s awake and goes still.

Heart pounding in his chest, Scott slowly reaches down to push Isaac off him, rolling over slightly to shield him from her. If she goes after him first maybe Isaac can get away…

Allison does not move for a second and then she straightens, lowering the ax. Isaac makes a sleepy protesting noise and clings to Scott’s back, his fingers brushing against the strip of bare skin between his sweater and his trousers.

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” she says contemptuously, and even in the dim light Scott can see that her usual emotionless expression has morphed into something furious.

She turns away and goes to sit by the opening of the cave with the axe in her lap, like she’s standing watch.

Isaac warm at his back, Scott can’t quite bring himself to sleep the rest of the night, not daring to take his eyes off of Allison sitting ramrod-straight at the entrance of the cave. She doesn’t look at him once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have Allison! Who is kind of the worst, but I don't know what you'd expect from someone raised to win the Hunger Games. 
> 
> Please comment!


	5. The Finale

Scott wakes the next morning to Isaac shaking him. “Hey, Scott, c’mon, wake up.”

He groans and rolls over onto his back, blinking against the bright light streaming into the cave from outside. He forces himself to sit up and winces at the pangs of hunger in his stomach. He guesses he didn’t eat much yesterday except for the rabbit.

Isaac seems to be of the same mind. “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott says and stumbles out of the cave to the creek to wash his face.

Allison is sitting a couple yards away from him with her feet in the water when he looks up, watching him and Isaac closely.

“Morning,” Scott says awkwardly, wiping the water from his face. “How’s your side doing?”

“It’s fine,” Allison says shortly, dark eyes darting to Isaac shaking out his blanket at the cave’s entrance for a second before returning to him.

“I should probably put more salve on it, can I take a look?” Scott says, getting to his feet.

“No,” she says flatly. “It’s fine.”

“Uh, okay,” Scott says. He should probably insist, but he’s worried that it might come out creepily. Like he’s trying to get her clothes off.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Isaac says, walking up to stand beside him and gives Allison a glare. “And _you_ , don’t touch my stuff.”

“I’m coming with,” Allison says to Scott, taking her feet out of the water and shaking them dry before pulling on her socks and boots.

“No, you’re not,” Isaac snaps, hefting his ax onto his shoulder. “You’re all better now, so why don’t you just _go away_.”

“Isaac,” Scott says reproachfully, frowning at his rudeness.

“I don’t feel like it,” Allison tells him emotionlessly and stands. “Which way are we going?”

“I _hate_ her,” Isaac snarls under his breath, standing next to Scott while he resets a snare, Allison several yards away tying up her hair with a stalk of some plant she’d found. “We need to get rid of her before she kills us! Bitch stole my ax last night- we’re lucky she didn’t decide to murder us in our sleep!”

Scott’s lips thin as he ties a complicated knot he’d learned in training, cracked nails protesting at the strain. He really does not like that word. Scott’s not a violent person, like, _at all_ , but a man injured in a mine accident had once called his mother that while she disinfected his wound and Scott’d nearly thrown a chair at him.  

“We can’t just make her leave,” he says half-heartedly, even though he agrees with Isaac. Just because she hadn’t decided to kill them last night doesn’t mean she won’t try eventually. But he does mean it- they literally _can’t_ make her leave.

Allison remains immune to Isaac’s dark looks, and seems perfectly content to follow them around all day while they gather food. She’s an unobtrusive presence that dogs them the entire day, and Scott is unnerved when he actually forgets she’s even there more than once.

“Hey, you sure you don’t want me to take a look at that?” Scott says when they get back to the cave at sunset and he notices Allison holding her injured side gently.

Allison narrows her eyes for a second and looks suspiciously over at Isaac, who’s bent over the fire blowing on the hot coals.

“Isaac, do you think you could get more firewood?” Scott asks, catching on. “I think it’s going to be cold tonight.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with her,” Isaac says, straightening and glaring at Allison.

“Please, if I was going to kill you today I would have done it already,” Allison says, rolling her eyes.

“Isaac, it’s fine,” Scott says in a reassuring tone. “I have to look at her wound anyway.”

Isaac’s face softens visibly, but only for a second, because then he turns to Allison with a harsh look. “You touch him, I kill you,” he tells her flatly. “Got that?”

“Yes,” Allison says emotionlessly.

“Good,” Isaac says coldly, then picks up his ax and strides out of the cave. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sorry about him,” Scott says, turning to her apologetically.

Allison just gives him an unimpressed look.

“Okay, if you could just...uh...lift up your shirt,” Scott says awkwardly.

Allison unzips her jacket easily and then pulls up her maroon sweater to reveal the pale skin of her abdomen.

“Okay, that doesn’t look too bad,” Scott says, leaning down a little to get a better look at it. “The swelling’s gone down, but it’s still a bit red. I think I still have some more-” He goes over Isaac’s backpack and pulls out the leftover herbs from yesterday. The yarrow has dried completely, but the comfrey is still okay and he grinds it up into a salve using a round rock he found in the creek bed and smears it as gently as possible on the wound. “That okay? How’s your pain?”

Allison lets go of her sweater and in one quick movement grabs him by the neck and slams him hard against the cave wall.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” she says viciously, while Scott moans in pain, colored lights dancing over his vision. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Stop playing games! What do you want with me?”

“What, I don’t-” Scott chokes, her hand just tight enough on his throat that it makes it difficult to breathe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’” she repeats in a mocking imitation of his District 12 accent. “I’m not _stupid,_ I don’t buy that “I don’t want to kill anyone” bullshit. You think you can trick me by pretending to be harmless and nice? That strategy’s not going to work, so just give it up now!”

“That’s because it’s not a strategy,” Scott protests, starting to feel short of breath, his lungs burning in the telltale sign of an oncoming asthma attack.

“Then you’re even more of an idiot,” she snarls, dark eyes furious, and Scott didn’t realize it until now, but she’s the exact same height as him. “You can’t be sentimental if you want to win the Games, _especially_ someone like you.”

“What’s more stupid, being sentimental or pretending someone like me has a chance at winning the Games in the first place?” Scott gasps, trying to inhale and failing.

Allison glares at him and then yanks her hand away from his throat. Scott doubles over and gasps for breath, clutching his chest, barely managing to stave off a full-blown attack.

“What’s wrong with you?” Allison asks him suspiciously, taking several steps back from him like she thinks he might be contagious.

“Asthma,” Scott explains, hands on his knees as he regains his breath. “It’s a breathing condition that-”

“I _know_ what asthma is,” she says bitingly. “Why would you tell me that, what’s wrong with you?”

Scott closes his eyes and lets out a breathy laugh. Maybe he should have told the Gamemakers that confusing people was going to be his major talent in the Games.

When he finally feels steady enough to stand, Allison is still watching him warily, like he was the one who just slammed _her_ into the cave wall.

“Stay away from me,” she tells him bluntly and then goes outside before he can figure out a way to respond to that. _She’s_ the one who won’t leave.

“Oh, good, is she gone?” Isaac asks when he comes back a couple minutes later, arms full of sticks. “Please tell me she isn’t coming back.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Scott says, still a little bewildered by the entire encounter. He touches the back of his head gingerly while Isaac builds up the fire. There’s already a bump forming.

Allison comes back after half an hour and sits as close to the fire and as far away from him and Isaac as possible. Isaac glares at her and puts his ax under his bunched up jacket he’s using as a pillow to prevent her from getting it, before wrapping an arm around Scott protectively under the blanket, as if trying to shield him from her. It makes something warm in Scott’s chest even as he despairs that Isaac’s going to get hurt trying to protect him. He doesn’t understand why he’s doing it even. They just met a couple days ago.

Scott drifts off for a bit, but not for long. When he opens his eyes again it’s still dark, and Allison is shivering across from him, curled up in a ball. She’s as close to the fire as she can get, but the temperature’s dropped significantly and cold wind is blowing harshly outside, slipping through the cracks and hitting her in the back.

“Hey,” he whispers, sitting up a bit and causing Isaac to grumble in annoyance as he’s dislodged from his place curled into his neck. “Are you okay?”

“F-Fine,” she says, not raising her head from her arms, teeth chattering on the word.

Scott sits up more, the blanket falling off his upper body, and he winces as the cold air hits his shoulders. It must be below freezing now.

“Scott, stop moving,” Isaac mumbles into his stomach, gripping Scott’s hip tightly.

“Hey, it’s really cold,” Scott says worriedly. “I think you should come over here.” He holds up the corner of the blanket.

“You have gotta be kidding me,” Isaac grumbles, voice muffled by his stomach.

Allison raises her head and looks at him suspiciously, before finally deciding to take him up on his offer. She gets up shakily and Scott shifts Isaac and him back further towards the wall of the cave to make room between them and the fire. She sits down next to them, but when Scott offers her a corner of the blanket she doesn’t take it.

“If you touch me,” she says calmly. “I’ll rip off your thumbs.”

“Pftt, don’t flatter yourself,” Isaac mumbles sleepily while Scott is shocked into silence, rubbing his cheek against Scott’s abdomen like a cat.

“I-I wouldn’t, I’d never-” Scott stammers, horrified at what she’s implying.

Allison rolls her eyes and takes the blanket, the rough fabric of her jacket pressing into Scott’s side as she lies down to face him. She’s kind of trapping Scott’s arm against his side, but he doesn’t dare move it and lies back down on his bunched up jacket, staring up at the cave ceiling for a second, dimly illuminated by their fire, before shutting his eyes and wishing for sleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with his cheek on the cold hard ground and immediately winces. He opens his eyes and is shocked to find Allison’s face only inches from his, her wide, dark brown eyes boring into him.

“Uh,” he says, panicked, stiffening up, never more relieved in his life to not have a morning erection than at this moment. His fingers of his right hand are brushing the teeth of the zipper on her jacket and he curls them slightly away from her. Their legs are pressed together, though, and Scott’s not quite sure how to extricate them because Isaac is pressed right up to his back, giving him nowhere to go.

Allison doesn’t say anything, just looks at him curiously and Scott feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Her eyelashes are shockingly long. How long has she just been watching him like this?

Then, without a word, she sits up, gets out from under the blanket and walks out of the cave, leaving Scott’s heart pounding with nervousness at the encounter.

“Hah, look at your face,” Isaac says when Scott sits up, and reaches up to touch his sore cheek. “It looks like you fought the ground and the ground won.”

His palm is very warm on his cheek, but for some reason Scott feels a little weird about it. Why is he touching his face? That’s not exactly a normal thing to do, touching a friend’s face so intimately, at least in District 12. Maybe 7 is different though.

He doesn’t want to say anything about it, wouldn’t even know what to say, and thankfully Isaac drops his hand after a moment and gets up to get a drink of water, leaving the phantom touch of his warm hand behind on Scott’s cheek. He touches it gently and it’s completely without hair, even though it’s been days since the Games started. The boys in the Games never grow beards- he’s pretty sure he remembers the doctor saying something about hormones injected into him with the tracker in his arm. It’s a little weird, but Scott can’t say he minds. He hates how itchy his face gets when he doesn’t shave and he doesn’t have anything close to a razor.

Despite the weird start, they spend most of the day the same as yesterday; looking for food. They wander further down the creek and the highlight of the day is when they find a mulberry tree, laden with sweet ripe berries. They gather them all, Isaac moaning appreciatively at the taste.

“Hey, what’s that?” Scott says, catching sight of something pale blue beyond the trees further down the creek. He walks towards it, trying to see what it is and then realize it isn’t only in one place. It’s everywhere, just beyond the trees, like it’s…

It’s the end of the Arena.

He quickens his pace along the creek bed and in only a minute he’s standing at the edge of the Arena, staring at the pale blue wall the exact color of the sky. The water from the creek doesn’t seem to be stopped by it, but instead flows through it. Or under it maybe, Scott thinks, peering at it more closely.

“Scott, what the hell are you doi-whoa,” Isaac says, coming up behind him and staring, his mouth stained red with berry juice.

They look up, to the right, the left, at the massive wall that surrounds them, awestruck at its size. It’s not like Scott didn’t know that the Arena was huge, but seeing evidence of its artificiality is much different than knowing it intellectually.

Isaac takes a few steps forward and reaches out to touch it.

“Hey, don’t,” Scott says, grabbing his wrist before he touches it.

“What, you think it’ll do something?” Isaac asks.

Scott has no idea. He can’t remember any tributes ever reaching the end of the Arena before. Not that they’ve shown on camera at least. That probably isn’t a good sign.

“What are you doing, get away from there!” Allison says angrily from behind them.

“Yeah, why?” Isaac says, turning around to look at her in a way Scott already knows from experience means that he’s not going to listen to her just to spite her.

“Come on, let’s go,” Allison says, glancing around the wall nervously.

“Okay, listen, you useless cunt, I don’t know why you decided that you’re in charge, but-”

"Isaac!" Scott says furiously, whipping toward him and yanking him around to face him. "Don't _ever_ call a woman that! Apologize!"

"What?" Isaac blinks at him, confusion evident in the lines of his face.

"You _never_ call a woman that," Scott says angrily, struggling to maintain his composure, feeling his face flush. "You shouldn't ever use that word; it's horrible. Apologize to her."

Isaac continues to look at him blankly, and then turns to look at Allison, who looks equally confused and not at all offended. "What? Are you serious, she doesn't care, and to be honest, I seriously doubt that's the first time someone's called her th-"

"Isaac!" Scott cuts him off angrily, crossing his arms over his chest, unwilling to let him off the hook.

"I really don't care," Allison offers coldly. "We need to go."

"Well, I do," Scott says unrelentingly, because he would seriously punch anyone who called his mother that.

"It's just a word," Isaac protests, starting to look uncomfortable.

"So you think that means it doesn't matter?" Scott shoots back, angry and disappointed in Isaac. He should know better. Allison may be a murderer, but to use a word that _foul_...It wasn’t just an insult to her, it was an insult to all women, and it makes Scott hot with rage and disgust.

"I, c'mon, Scott," Isaac says weakly, looking nervous, and then scowls and turns to Allison, shoulders hunched uncomfortably. "Ugh, fine, sorry."

He clearly does not mean it, but at least he knows that Scott will not stand by and let him say something like that without consequences.

“Whatever,” Allison says in annoyance, rolling her eyes. “Now can we go?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, turning away from the wall, because Allison really does look nervous. Like she knows something, but doesn’t want to say it on camera. It wouldn’t surprise him if District 2 had extra knowledge about the Games.

Isaac doesn’t argue and follows Scott away from the wall like a kicked puppy. Scott would feel bad for him if he wasn’t still so mad at him. They go back up the creek, but Scott’s gives the wall one last glance before it fades out of view. It’s strange to think that just a couple feet beyond it is outside the Games. A freedom he’ll never again experience.

 

* * *

 

It’s entering into the third week of the games with 8 tributes left and no recent deaths. Scott is not exactly surprised to see smoke rising in the distance that afternoon. Isaac climbs a tall tree and reports that it looks like there’s a huge forest fire engulfing the north side of the Arena. No cannons sound, though, and they all remain uneasy throughout the rest of the day, constantly on the lookout for fire.

A couple hours before sunset, Allison receives a parachute. A pair of lethal looking daggers Scott’d seen her throwing at the dummies in the Training Center with deadly accuracy.

“Oh, great, she’s armed,” Isaac says warily, looking at them uncomfortably.

Oddly enough, Allison does not look particularly happy with the gift either, even though Scott knew she was unhappy being unarmed, often eyeing Isaac’s ax enviously. She slips them into the pockets of her trousers without comment.

“Ugh, couldn’t they send you something useful, like, I dunno, _food_ ,” Isaac complains, taking a bite out of some arrowhead and making a face.

“We have food,” Allison says shortly, detaching the plastic parachute from the metal container holding the daggers and sticking it in her pocket as well. “It’d be more useful to get another blanket or a water purifier. I got a parachute with one earlier, but it must have gotten lost in the creek with the rest of my stuff.”

“So you’re saying if we were starving they’d have sent you food,” Isaac says, kicking a bunch of small rocks on the ground as he walks. “It’d probably be pretty crappy this late in the Games anyway. I got a loaf of bread and some jerky on the second day, but nothing since then.” He turns to Scott. “What about you? You get anything good?”

“What?” Scott says, so confused he stops in his tracks. “What do you mean? I haven’t gotten any parachutes.”

“What?” Isaac says, puzzled. “Really?”

“No,” Scott says slowly, surprised to find that Allison also looks confused. “I don’t have any sponsors.”

“Why not?” Allison asks, and Scott doesn’t understand why she looks so surprised. He’s from District _12_. Scott can’t remember a tribute from 12 getting a sponsor gift since at least seven years ago. She must know this.

“Because I’m from 12…?” Scott says, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “Not really likable or anything either.”

“What do you mean, not likable?” Allison scowls, like this personally offends her.

“I’m...you know…” Scott says, trying to remember the Capitol word the commentators had used to describe him after his interview, “...a buzzkill. No one’s rooting for me to win.”

Both of them just look at him blankly.

“I got booed off the stage, remember?” Scott says, starting to get annoyed at their reactions. Are they pretending not to know why he doesn’t have any sponsor support? He doesn’t know why they would do that, but it doesn’t make any sense that they wouldn’t have recognized his unpopularity otherwise.

“That’s stupid,” Isaac scoffs and Allison turns away from him in contempt. Scott doesn’t know why this admission causes them to be in such a bad mood, for the rest of the day even. He’s pathetically relieved that night when both of them lie down next to him under the blanket to sleep, Isaac’s arm around his waist and Allison’s head on his shoulder.

Surrounded by warm bodies on both sides, Scott sleeps better than he has since he was Reaped.

 

* * *

 

But the next day is when their luck finally runs out. It starts out like any other day, them going up the creek to look for food. Scott is showing Allison a poisonous lookalike that would give you stomach problems if you ate it when the screaming starts.

“What?” Isaac says as their heads all swivel towards the noise. It coming from northwest of them and it sounds like a boy. A cannon goes off, but he doesn’t stop screaming.

Scott doesn’t think. Afterwards he’d like to say that it was an instinct to try and help the injured after years of helping his mother, but reality is that he can’t stand the sound and wants to do anything in his power to make it stop.

“Scott, wait, stop!” Isaac shouts after him as he goes off running towards the screaming.

He pushes deeper into the forest, small branches of low hanging trees and bushes whipping him in the face as he runs, the terrible sound ringing in his ears. It cuts off as he’s climbing a small hill, but fortunately, especially for his burning lungs, he’s already close. He reaches the top of the hill just in time to see the huge District 11 boy stumble through the trees towards him, his stomach a bloody mess. They lock eyes for a moment, the boy's wide with shock and pain, and then he falls to his knees. He sways slightly and Scott skids down the hill, barely getting there in time to catch him before he falls flat on his face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Scott says uselessly, heaving the boy onto his back with difficulty. He unzips his jacket and pushes up his sweater and undershirt, and almost gags at his shredded abdomen. He's never seen an injury like this before, not even on victims of mine explosions. What could have caused this?

"Scott!" Isaac shouts from the other side of the hill. "Where are you?!"

It jars him into action.

"Okay, you're going to be okay," he tells him firmly, shrugging off his jacket and pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. "I have to stop the bleeding, so just breathe for me, okay?"

"Erica's dead," the boy says quietly and jerks violently when Scott presses his jacket into his abdomen to stem the bleeding.

"Don't think about that," Scott tells him, pressing down on his stomach as hard as he dares, willing his hands not to shake.

The boy whimpers in pain, face contorting in agony. "I don't want to die," he says weakly, looking up at Scott helplessly.

"You're going to be okay, I promise," Scott repeats, even as the boy's blood soaks through his jacket. "Just stay with me, alright? What's your name?"

But the boy doesn't answer, his head lolling back and eyelids shutting to half-mast.

"Hey, hey, wake up!" Scott says desperately, reaching out with one bloody hand to touch his face gently. He twitches slightly, but doesn't open his eyes.  Scott abandons the boy's stomach and cradles his head in his hands. "Please," Scott sobs, tears blurring his vision. "Please wake up."

"Well, isn't this touching," someone says, and Scott looks up to see the muscular District 4 boy walking up to them leisurely. He grins cruelly down at Scott, wearing a pair of brass knuckles with sharp points on his bloody hands. That's how the District 11 boy's stomach had become so shredded, Scott realizes in horror, and clutches the boy's head closer to his chest protectively.

"Idiot, he's dead, or will be soon," the District 4 boy scoffs, stepping closer. “Now are you going to run or what?”

“I-” Scott gapes at him, unable to process what he’s saying, what he means to do. Because he’s never understood it, not really, how someone could kill another person. He’s watched the Games every year and wondered why they all turned on each other so fast, how they could so easily take someone’s life and move onto the next hurdle without pause. “Why are you doing this?”

The District 4 boy frowns in confusion for a second before he reaches down and grabs Scott’s collar, hauling him onto his knees.

But before he can even raise his fist there’s the sound of whirring metal flying through the air and a knife hits the boy in the forehead with a thunk, small flecks of blood spraying onto Scott’s face. The boy’s eyes widen for a split second and he pitches backwards, the collar of Scott’s jacket slipping out of his grip, the cannon sounding as he hits the ground.

For a second Scott just stares at his body in confusion and then at the sounds of footsteps behind him he turns around to see Allison striding down the hill towards him, her face white with fury, Isaac gaping at her back.

Another cannon sounds and Scott whips his head around to look at the boy’s head in his arms.

“Oh,” he says to his too-still face, tears spilling onto his cheeks. “Oh, please, no. Oh, please, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls the corpse into his lap and presses his forehead against the boy’s, still warm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

He hears Isaac saying something, but he can’t register it. All he can feel is dark hopelessly weighing him down, even heavier than the boy’s head in his lap. He’s seen people die before, on his mother’s kitchen table, but this is different. This is so brutal and cruel. So pointless. He was so young, why did he have to die that way? In so much pain and so afraid. Why did anyone have to die that way? Scott doesn’t want to live in a world like this.

A hand grips his shoulder. “Scott...go...vercraft’ll be coming soon,” he makes out and then strong arms around his waist, pulling him away. He presses his mouth to the dark skin of the boy’s smooth forehead, a kiss for the road, before his head slips out of his grip and he’s pulled to his feet.

His knees are weak and he sways before he’s turned around and is pulled into a warm body, arms enveloping him, his nose pressed into long hair.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, you’re alright,” Allison says soothingly, stroking his hair gently with one hand and wrapping the other around his waist firmly. “You’re alright, now walk with me, okay?”

He’s not alright. He’ll never be alright. But Scott wants comfort, desperately, and so he clutches at  her and sobs brokenly into her shoulder, loud, and undignified. She pulls him away from the scene and Scott stumbles clumsily after her, unwilling to let go of her.

He raises his head briefly when the sound of a hovercraft zooms overhead and he watches as the emaciated body of the District 11 girl is lifted into the air, her long blonde hair hanging down and fluttering in the wind like a flag. Scott catches sight of Isaac’s scared face before he presses his face back into Allison’s neck and continues to sob.

Scott doesn’t really remember the journey back to the cave. He just remembers tripping a lot and trying to keep a hold of Allison. They have to stop twice when his asthma is triggered, but it’s all sort of a blur and the next thing he knows he’s lying on the cave floor cocooned in the blanket, Allison curled up next to him stroking his hair. He’s too tired to even cry then, and falls into an uneasy sleep.

It doesn’t last long, though, and when he wakes up, the sun setting outside, he finds himself sobbing pitifully again, cries interspersed with heaving breaths.

He can’t do this anymore. He’s so sick of being afraid all the time, of counting down the children dying around him. He wants it to be over. He was never supposed to get this far anyway. He wants to be dead.

Does his mother want that too? he wonders. He did for Stiles, at the end. When he was starving and freezing, frostbite eating away at his fingers and nose. Scott wished that he was dead, that his suffering would end, and it was almost a relief when it finally did. His pain isn’t physical, not yet at least, but it’s so raw and all-consuming that Scott welcomes the release that death will bring him.

Allison shifts against his back and a rolls over to press her chest to him, hooking her chin over his shoulder.

“Shhh,” she whispers gently and wraps an arm around him under the blanket, taking one of his hands in hers. “It’s going to be alright.”

Scott doesn’t really believe her, but he clutches her hand back like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him together, like an anchor, and tries to concentrate on the feel of her arms around him and not the despair that threatens to drown him.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up next it's morning, sunlight streaming through the entrance of the cave, birds singing cheerfully outside. Allison is still asleep beside him, her arm slung over his chest and her head curled into his shoulder. Scott stares up at the cave ceiling blankly and wishes for oblivion.

A noise outside the cave causes him to raise his head weakly, and Isaac walks in a second later, carrying Scott's soaking wet jacket.

"Hey," he says nervously when he notices Scott is awake, holding up his jacket. "I tried to wash it, but..." The brown jacket still has dark stains on the front. They're not even red anymore, but Scott feels sick even looking at them.

Scott doesn't say anything, just lets his head fall back onto the cave floor with a painful thunk.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Isaac asks, walking across the cave to lay Scott's jacket out by the fire to dry.

Scott closes his eyes and doesn't reply. He can't think of anything he'd like to do less than eat right now.

"Scott, you need to eat something, you barely ate anything yesterday," Isaac tells him, coming to crouch down next to him.

Scott shakes his head and tilts his head toward Allison, away from Isaac's well meaning gaze.

"Scott," Isaac says pleadingly. “C’mon.”

Allison shifts next to him and sits up so fast Scott can feel air hit his face. She’s quiet for a second, and Scott can tell she and Isaac are having a silent conversation even with his eyes closed.

Then she says. “Scott, you need to get up.”

Scott just curls further into himself under the blanket.

She pulls the blanket off him, grabs him around the waist and hauls him into a seated position. “C’mon,” she says, pushing his face into her shoulder and rubbing his back soothingly. “That’s it. You’re alright.”

Scott hears Isaac moving around, his backpack unzipping, and then Allison’s holding up something that tickles his chin. He can tell what it is just by the smell. Field pennycress.

“Eat,” she tells him. “C’mon, you can do it.”

Scott shakes his head against her shoulder. “You should have it,” he tells her hoarsely.

“No,” Allison says, voice suddenly cold, before she takes a breath and resumes her gentle tone. “You have to eat, Scott. It’s not that much. Can you eat just this little bit? For me and Isaac?”

The way she says ‘me and Isaac’ causes a pang in Scott’s chest that he’s not entirely certain of the reason for. He feels his eyes begin to water, but he’s so tired...He doesn’t want to fight. He swallows down the plant, gagging more because of the texture than the taste and lets Allison wrap the blanket around him, hiding his face in her neck.

“That’s it,” she says soothingly and rubs his back.

Why are you doing this? Scott wants to ask. She doesn’t even like him, why is she being so nice? He wasn’t even aware she _could_ be nice. But he’s too tired and miserable to care all that much; Allison’s sudden uncharacteristic behavior is a mystery he doesn’t have the energy to wonder about.

He doesn't move much for the rest of the day. Allison and Isaac keep trying to get him to eat more, but he doesn’t have the appetite and just hides his face under the blanket until they go away. He drifts in and out of sleep for most of the day, misery keeping him lethargic and weak. When he finally wakes up enough to be aware of his surroundings it’s very late, or possibly very early, his mouth dry with thirst. Allison and Isaac are asleep on either side of him, and Scott untangles his limbs from theirs as gently as he can and slips out from under the blanket and outside the cave.

He feels his way carefully to the creek and drinks large gulps of water to quench his thirst. Then he sits down on the flat rock by the edge of the water and stares blankly into the pitch black. It’s very cold and dark out here, but he finds he doesn’t want to go back into the cave with Isaac and Allison. Just being near them seems painful now, now that he knows that soon at least two of them will be dead. So instead he stays outside in the cold. Soon the sun begins to rise, and Scott watches at the forest around him is slowly illuminated by pale light, birds beginning to sing.

“Hey,” Isaac says from behind him as the sun peeks over the trees.

Scott doesn’t turn around.

Isaac comes to sit next to him hesitantly, moving slowly, like he thinks Scott might bolt at any second.

“You okay?” he asks nervously, which strikes Scott as a little odd. He doesn’t see anything to be nervous of.  

“Yeah,” Scott says, very numbily. He doesn’t really feel anything right now, which is certainly a step up from the way he felt before. “Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought. Isaac is probably sick of dealing with his emotional breakdown. Everyone had grown up watching the Games, but Scott has never been able to get used to the unvarnished reality of teenagers murdering each other and starving to death, even before it was Stiles he was watching die onscreen. He’s weak, he guesses.

“It’s okay,” Isaac reassures him immediately. “Are you hungry? You should eat something.”

“Later,” Scott says, sounding very far away even to his own ears.

Isaac reaches out to touch his face hesitantly and the touch is so foreign that Scott stops looking blankly down at the water and looks up at him automatically.

“You still have, uh,” Isaac says with a frown, and then sticks the sleeve of his sweater in the creek and brings the damp cloth up to his face. Right, Scott remembers, closing his eyes at the feel of the wool on his cheek, the blood.

Isaac is silent while he washes Scott’s face, very gently, like he thinks Scott might break if he rubs too hard. It’s odd, someone touching his face like this. His mother must have done it, when he was a child, but he can’t remember that now. The contrast between Isaac’s warm palm on his chin and the cold water from the creek is strangely disconcerting.

Isaac finally pulls away after what seems like a long time. He’s silent for a minute, then: “You should come inside, it’s really cold. You’re going to get sick.”

A surprised laugh forces its way out of Scott’s lungs and then he’s overwhelmed by the sudden urge to hug Isaac. Wrap his arms around him and hide his face in his neck. He doesn’t, though, because that like a weird thing to do all of a sudden. He doesn’t think Isaac would like it.

Isaac looks at him very strangely, not managing to cover the worry in his face. It makes Scott feel very very sad for a moment and he has to swallow and clear his throat before he says, “Yeah, okay.”

Allison is awake when they go back inside, sitting up under the blanket, her unwashed hair sticking up in odd places.

“We need to get more food,” she says after a moment of looking at Scott critically.

“Okay,” Scott says obediently, crouching down by the low fire to warm his hands.  

“Right, let’s go then,” Allison says after another pause and throws the blanket off her.

They go downstream to look for food, but Scott has a very hard time concentrating on looking for the right plants. He keeps zoning out and wandering off while Allison and Isaac argue over which way they should go. One of those times he stumbles upon a large patch of oyster mushrooms growing on the side of a large tree. He gathers them all up in his shirt and carries them back to the creek, where Allison and Isaac berate him for wandering off.

“I’m fine,” Scott says with an eyeroll. “Now, c’mon, these are good.”

“You eat too,” Allison orders, taking a large bite out of the soft white cap hungrily. Both she and Isaac have that hollow-cheeked starving look that every child from the Seam grows up with, a stark contrast from their strong bodies at the start of the Games.

“I already ate a lot,” Scott lies, gesturing to his stomach. “Totally full.”

Either Allison or Isaac will win the Games. They have to. One of them has to get out of here alive and Scott will do whatever he can to ensure that they’ll be strong enough to make it to the end. He can do that, at least.

 

* * *

 

The Gamemakers send mutts after them the next day. It makes sense-there are only five tributes left now, and neither the District 11 tributes or District 4 tribute’s deaths had been particularly dramatic. The audience must be getting bored watching them all hide in a cave for days on end. Scott is ankle deep in the creek fishing out some arrowroot when howls tear through the air and when he straightens in shock his vision goes blurry for a second and he sways unsteadily.

“Get out of there!” Isaac yells at him, lifting up his ax, while on the other side of the river Allison draws her knives.

Scott stumbles out of the creek and almost trips when Isaac yanks his arm and begins to pull him downstream.

“Wait!” Scott protests, craning his head around to see if Allison is following them. He’s weak from hunger, having only drank water the last day and a half. Isaac and Allison often insist that he eats, but he’s managed to fool them into thinking he’s complying while they’re preoccupied with their own food.

More howls come from behind them and Scott’s bare feet ache as he’s pulled down the rocky creek bed. He catches sight of Allison behind them and would sigh in relief, if he could spare any breath at all. Isaac pulls him off into the trees after a minute, behind a rocky outcroup, and Scott sinks to his knees and gasps for air.

“How many are there?” Isaac asks Allison as she jumps over the top to join them, leaping backwards and raising his ax until he realizes who she is.

“Five, I think,” Allison pants and throws down Scott’s socks and boots at his feet. “Put those on.”

She’d gone back for them, Scott realizes, and feels something that isn’t hunger pains twist in his gut. He can’t do anything but try not to pass out though.

“How close?” Isaac whispers, body tense and alert, ready to lash out if any of the huge wolf muttations appear around corner.

“Any second,” Allison says tersely, her knives raised at the ready.

Leave me, Scott thinks, but doesn’t say because he’s a coward. Mutt deaths are never quick. The Capitol always shows every gruesome detail, almost lovingly, giving Scott nightmares for years, as if the screaming, bloody deaths of starving children is the best entertainment the Games has to offer.

He reaches for his socks and is just beginning to pull them on with shaking hands when the first mutt rounds the corner. Isaac throws his ax before Scott can yell and it hits the creature right in the neck, killing it instantly. He strides forward to pull it out as another one comes up behind it, but Allison’s knives fly into its front legs before it can leap for him. It crashes to the ground and Isaac pulls the ax out of the first on and slit its throat as it squirms helplessly on the ground and yelps in pain.

The rocky outcrop shakes above him and Scott looks up to see that another one has jumped practically on top of them. Isaac throws his ax, but it dodges out of the way and roars so loud Scott’s ears ache, leaping down on top of Allison and slamming her flat on her back. For one horrible second Scott thinks he’s going to watch it rip out her throat right in front of him, but Allison shoves one knife into its neck and the other right into the side of its head. It lets out a dying moan and then collapses on top of her. Allison lets out a pained choking sound, her eyes bulging, as the huge creatures’ weight pins her to the floor and Scott leaps to his feet to help.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Isaac hisses as they push the dead creature off of her as quickly as they can. “We can’t stay here.”

“No, we need a barrier,” Allison gasps as Scott helps her to her feet. She leans down to pull her knives out of the mutt’s head with a gross slurping sound, followed by the roar of another mutt off in the distance. “We’re never going to outrun them, we have to fight!”

“Oh, how convenient,” Isaac hisses angrily, glaring at her. “ _You’re_ the only one with weapons. You just want them to do your dirty work for you!”

“ _What_ did you say to me?” Allison whirls around to look at him furiously, fists clenched around the handles of her knives.

“Enough, we don’t have time for this now!” Scott says in a loud whisper, lacing up his boots as fast as he can. “Allison, he’s right, you can’t fight all of them yourself!”

“ _Watch_ me,” she tells him, drawing herself up to her full height, and without warning walks right past them out behind the outcrop into the open.

“Come on,” she says loudly, voice ringing out through the forest, both knives raised. “Come on!”

“Allison, don-” Scott says, stepping out after her to try and pull her back out of harm’s way, but a loud roar cuts him off and another mutt materializes through the trees, racing towards her. She hits it dead on in the forehead from several yards away and strides forward to pull the knife out of its skull without breaking her stride.

“Fuck,” Isaac says lowly, and despite the language Scott has to say he agrees with the sentiment.

“Now, let’s move,” Allison orders, walking away from dead mutt back toward them, blood dripping from her knives. “We need to get away fr-”

There’s another growl from behind him and Scott whirls around to see a mutt racing toward them from the right. But before Allison can do anything, an arrow flies through the air and hits it in the gut. It roars in pain and another arrow lodges itself in its neck, causing it to fall and moan in pain.

Scott turns to the source of the arrow to see the District 4 and District 1 girl standing on a small hill to his right, the District 4 girl pulling another arrow out of her quiver.

“Finally,” she says, a grim look on her soot-stained face. Both she and the District 1 girl look exhausted, clothes dirty and singed, faces gaunt with starvation. The food must have run out at the Cornucopia. She notches another arrow and aims it in their general direction.

Scott has just enough time to wonder how much it would hurt to be shot with an arrow before two sets of hands pull him back and Allison and Isaac step in front of him protectively.

"Those are mine," Allison says angrily, shoulders tense with anticipation for a fight.

"You lost the right to them when you murdered your district partner," the District 4 girl says, giving her a disgusted look. "And now look who you're teaming up with; the 7 is one thing, but a _12_?" She draws back the bowstring and Isaac gives a full-body jerk in fear.

"Please, is that supposed to scare me?" Allison says mockingly, not sounding the least bit bothered by the arrow pointed at her head.  "After _that_ shooting?" She gestures at the dying mutt with two arrows in its side. "I could get you between the eyes before you could even aim properly."

"You could try," the District 4 girl responds, but doesn't move an inch, apparently taking Allison at her word. Allison doesn't move either, looking between the District 4 girl and the District 1 girl standing two paces behind her, holding a spear and a backpack stuffed so full it's practically bursting at the seams. What is she carrying?

"Allison," Scott leans forward to whisper in her ear. "We should run. Look at the heavy backpack the District 1 girl's carrying, she won't be able to chase us without leaving it behind and they both look exhausted. They won't be able to chase us for long."

"No, I can take them," Allison growls.

"You know what, I'm done with this," the District 1 girl says suddenly and then throws her spear directly at Allison.  

Allison leaps backwards into Scott to avoid the weapon, causing him to fall flat on his behind.

"Lydia, what are you _doing_?" he hears the District 4 girl yell and an arrow whooshes overhead.

"Shit, run!" Isaac hisses and yanks him to his feet, his fingers digging into his bicep painfully.

They veer to the left back towards the creek, but the sky darkens before their eyes and a bolt of lightning splits the sky, striking the tree in front of them, causing it to burst into flame.

Scott and Isaac change course and it's only then that Scott realizes Allison isn't with them.

"Isaac, we have to go back!" he gasps, stopping in his tracks and trying to pull out of Isaac's grip.

"She made her decision!" Isaac protests.

"We can't just leave her!" Scott insists and turns back, trying to figure out the way they came. "I think it's this way."

"Scott, wait!" Isaac yells after him, but another crack of lightning drowns out his next words.

Scott dodges between the trees, but sees no sign of Allison or the other girls. He can't remember the way back to the outcrop and is just beginning to panic, Isaac cursing behind him, when he hears the District 4 girl yelling something unintelligible south of them.

"Over here!" he calls to Isaac and races off in the direction of her voice.

He crashes through bushes, tree branches whipping his face. His lungs are burning, but he ignores them as best he can, worry for Allison overshadowing everything else. She can't be dead, there wasn't a cannon, but it was two against one back there.

"...here are you going?" he hears the District 4 girl shout. "Lydia, come on, I need your help!"

Scott skids halfway down a steep hill and feels his heart skip a beat as he takes in the sight before him, framed by the backdrop of the Arena wall. Allison and the District 4 girl are standing faced off at the bottom of the hill, both panting for breath. Allison only has one knife left, the other embedded in the tree trunk just to the District 4 girl's right. The District 4 girl has two arrows left, but she looks too exhausted to even pull back the drawstring. The District 1 girl looks completely disinterested in the fight and is walking away from her ally in the direction of the wall.

"Lydia, stop it, what are you doing?" the District 4 girl says, turning away from Allison and grabbing her arm, pulling her around to look at her.

"No, I am _done_ with this," Lydia says furiously, spitting a strand of her loose red hair out of her mouth. She wrenches her arm away from her and continues on towards the wall.

"Allison," Scott hisses, while the District 4 girl gapes after Lydia. "C'mon!"

Allison's eyes widen as she turns to look at him. "Get out of here!" she says urgently.

"I'm not leaving without you," Scott says stubbornly, sliding carefully down the hill toward her.

"Scott, come back here!" Isaac says from the top of the hill, sounding winded.

“Allison, let’s just go,” Scott says pleadingly when he reaches her. “Let’s just leave, okay?”

She narrows her eyes at him angrily. “You go,” she orders and then glances up at Isaac. “What are you doing, why did you let him come here?”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Isaac says bad-temperedly, almost tripping and falling as he runs down the hill too fast. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Lydia, get back here!” the District 4 girl shouts, giving them all a nervous look before turning to run after her ally.

“Get him out of here,” Allison tells Isaac and then runs after them, grabbing her knife out of the tree trunk on the way.

“Allison, don’t!” Scott says, following her.

“Scott!” Isaac calls out, making a grab for his arm, but Scott is too fast, following Allison through a thick copse of pine trees and around another rocky outcrop before catching up with them.

“Lydia, what are you doing, get away from there!” the District 4 girl says, standing between Lydia and the wall, while Allison watches on in wary confusion.

“Get _out of my way_ , Cora!” Lydia yells and shoves her aside violently. “I am done. I am done with this stupid Game.” She takes off her bulging backpack and throws it against the wall, with more upper body strength than Scott expected from a girl so small. She sticks her hand in the top, but doesn’t take anything out, just wriggles her hand around inside for a moment before withdrawing it.

“Now, come here!” she demands, grabbing the District 4 girl by the forearm and dragging her away from the wall, several yards away from him and Allison.

“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” Isaac says, coming to a stop next to Scott. “What is she doing?”

“Give me that!” Lydia demands, green eyes large and wild, grabbing the bow from Cora and an arrow from her quiver, while the girl stares at her in shock. “This is done. I am _ending this_.” She notches the arrow in the bow, aiming it at the backpack and Scott barely has time to wonder why she’s going to shoot her own backpack before Allison’s eyes go wide and she screams: “GET DOWN!”, tackling him to the ground.

The explosion is so loud Scott thinks for a moment that he must be dead. Smoke billows out over them and then everything goes dark. Scott chokes as Allison presses his face further into the dirt, shielding him with her body, fear paralyzing him. When the air clears, Scott raises his head tentatively, the explosion still ringing in his ears.

There’s an enormous gaping hole in the Arena, reaching up above the trees that surround them. Mangled metal and wires stick out of its edges, sparking weakly and emanating heat that Scott can feel from yards away. The whole sky has gone black, all the power dead, the only light visible the sunlight streaming through the hole like beacon.

Lydia stands up, using her spear as a crutch and glares down at Cora, her face half-hidden by shadows.

“Well?” she demands into the shocked silence. “Are you coming or what?”

And then without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel and strides through the hole out of the Arena, leaving them all gaping after her.

Isaac moans in pain next to him and Scott turns to see that he’d been slammed up against the trunk of a nearby tree, his head bleeding profusely.

Scott scrambles to go to him. “Okay, hold on, just don’t move,” he tells him, cupping Isaac’s face to keep him still and trying to examine the head wound, a difficult task in the bad light.

“I...shit!” Cora says in shock, getting to her feet, and follows Lydia out of the Arena.

“Get up,” Allison says after a beat, while Scott uses his jacket sleeve to put pressure on the wound in the side of Isaac’s head. “We have to go.”

“W-What?” Isaac says after a moment, realizing her intention. “We can’t just...there’s no way they’ll just let us-”

“Let’s go, _now_!” Allison hisses, grabbing one of his arms and pulling him to his feet. Scott takes the other automatically, and helps carry Isaac toward the light, giving the Arena one last glance as he’s pulled through the hole and into the real world beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Sorry for the delay, resonance_and_d had the gall to get sick and I can't grammar without help. Hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for it!
> 
> I can't believe they're out of the Games already! It seemed way longer when I was writing it. I guess a lot happened this chapter (I am having way too much fun writing Allison, as you can probably tell), but it still seems really fast. 
> 
> Please comment!


	6. The Escape

They run. Heedless of the blood running down their forearms from where Allison cut their trackers out, they run as fast as their exhausted bodies can stand, dodging around the undergrowth and tripping over tree roots. Other than the weather, outside the Arena has the exact same terrain as the inside- deciduous and evergreen trees surrounding them on all sides, and uneven landscape, though a bit warmer than in the Arena. They're heading west, towards the setting sun, but they have no real destination in mind. They all know, without discussion, that they have to get as far away from the Arena as possible. Their pace is slow- they're all too exhausted to sprint, but eventually Scott's bad lungs catch up with him and he can't run any further. He collapses against the trunk of a small pine tree, its sharp pines jabbing his cheek, barely managing to remain upright.

"Just go," Scott gasps, when Isaac stops beside him, clutching his bleeding head and too exhausted to speak. "I'll catch...up with you."

Isaac tries to shake his head, and then stumbles, face contorted in pain.

"Hey, we have to stop!" Scott tries to yell, but he doesn't have enough air in his lungs and he can't even see any of the others anymore. "Isaac, just...sit down...and rest, okay?"

Isaac groans and sinks to his knees. Scott lowers himself to the ground with shaky arms and tries to scootch over to him, blood dripping down his wrist. But he doesn't have the energy and sags back against the tree, too out of breath to even wince as the sharp branches jab him in the back.

"What are you doing, get up!" the District 4 girl says, pushing past a large bush, panting with exertion. "Do you want them to catch us?!"

"Just wait one minute," Allison says, coming up behind her. She walks over to Scott and sinks down on one knee beside him, touching his shoulder gently.

Scott squeezes his eyes shut in shame. This is stupid, he's ruining everything, being a burden like _always_. He wants his liniment, his inhaler, anything to make this stop. They'd just escaped from the _Games,_ blown a hole in the Arena, something Scott would never have imagined was even possible, and now the Capitol is going to catch them and _kill them all_ because he can't even _run._

"Shh, Scott, it's alright, take your time," Allison says gently, rubbing his back. "Isaac, put pressure on the wound," she continues in a much sharper voice.

"Yeah, with what?" Isaac slurs, face as white as a sheet, eyes glassy.

Allison shrugs off her jacket and pulls off her sweater, handing it over to him without comment.

Isaac grabs at it uncoordinatedly and presses it to the side of his head. Scott feels his lungs begin to clear and he forces himself to take slow deep breaths until he can breathe normally.

"I'm good, I'm okay," Scott says shakily, waving off Allison's hands as he gets to his feet.

"Alright, c'mon," Allison says firmly, getting up and going over to Isaac. She kneels at his side and pulls his arm over her shoulders, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him to his feet. "Now, _walk_ ," she orders.

Isaac still looks very wan, but he follows Allison's lead and they continue on.

"Where's Lydia?" Scott asks, looking around and realizing the red-haired girl is nowhere to be seen.

"I don't think she stopped," Cora says, sounding irritated. "She just lost it when Jackson died and now...I knew she was crazy, but I didn't know she was _this_ crazy."

"We better find her," Scott says worriedly, quickening his pace even though his leg muscles ache and his throat burns in thirst. "The sun's going down and we'll never find her after dark."

"Is he serious?" he hears her mutter behind him.

They continue west, walking briskly instead of running, which Scott is extremely grateful for. But as the sun disappears beneath the treetops, Scott begins to understand that the likelihood of finding Lydia before dark is very slim. Just when he starts to give up hope, they round a large rock formation and he sees Lydia sitting at the base of it, her face lined with misery.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cora demands, stalking over to her. "What were you thinking, going off on your own like that?"

Lydia doesn't respond, doesn't even look up at her.

"Hey, answer me!" Cora continues furiously, stomping her foot next to Lydia's legs.

"Hey, leave her alone," Scott says, glaring at her insensitivity. He walks over to Lydia and crouches down next to her, looking down at her forearm to see how bad the bleeding is. Allison had been very precise, making the cuts at small as possible, but Scott still wishes he could stitch them up. He's been stemming the blood with the sleeve of his jacket, but he doesn't think Lydia has the wherewithal to pay the wound any attention. He's relieved to see it hasn't soaked through her jacket, though.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks her gently.

"No, she's not okay, she's crazy, that's what she is!" Cora says, turning away from her in disgust. Then she whirls back around angrily.  "Do you realize what you've done? You _blew a hole_ in the Arena! Do you realize what they're going to do to us when they find us?! To our families?!"

"Enough!" Scott says loudly, even though a frisson of fear runs through him at the thought of the Capitol going after his mother. They wouldn't, right? She had nothing to do with this. “Leave her _alone_.”

Cora looks shocked at his vehemence and Scott turns back to Lydia, who is looking at the ground now. “C’mon,” he says, “We can’t stay here. We have to find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

“No, we don’t, we need to _run_!” Cora says angrily. “They’ll be after us any minute and don’t think just because we took our trackers out it doesn’t mean they won’t be able to find us. We have to get as far away from the Arena as possible.”

“It’s nearly dark,” Scott protests. “Isaac’s been injured, she’s in no state to go anywhere, and the rest of us are about to collapse. We have no food, no water, so we need to find a place to rest or they won’t _have_ to kill us.”

“We don’t have a choic-”

“We do,” Scott says, more harshly than he was intending, and stands to look her firmly in the eye. “And we are finding somewhere to sleep. Is that understood?”

Cora just stares at him for a second and then turns away in disgust, stomping over to the other side of the rock formation and throwing her bag to the ground.

Allison climbs a tree to get their bearings. Scott volunteered to do it because Isaac was too weak and he was the person with the most experience climbing trees after him, but Allison insisted that she be the one to scale the tall pine, leaving Scott watching her nervously from the bottom. She tells them that they’re just a couple miles from the Arena and that there are mountains to the west of them. She didn’t see any hovercrafts. Scott half-heartedly brings up the idea of heading towards the mountains tomorrow, but at that point they’re all too exhausted to discuss their plans. Lydia doesn’t speak at all, doesn’t acknowledge them even, and both she and Cora ignore him when he offers that they all huddle up together for the night. Isaac’s blanket is still back in the cave in the Arena and they don’t dare build a fire, so the three of them all press together for warmth. Even though every inch of him is tense waiting for the sound of an approaching hovercraft, he’s in pain in his left arm and legs, and he’s freezing, it takes less than a minute for Scott to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to the sound of birds chirping happily above him. He opens his eyes and immediately regrets it- his head aches and his throat burns with thirst, and the bright sunlight just makes everything feel worse. He groans as he moves his left arm and it twinges in pain. He'd completely forgotten about-!

Scott sits up with difficulty, his vision going spotty before his eyes. He rolls up his sleeve, whimpering in pain as the cloth sticks to his wound. The cut is only about an inch long, but it's deep. It's stopped bleeding during the night and thankfully his removal of his sleeve hasn't caused it to start again, but it does not look like it's going to heal properly all open like this. If only he had something to stitch it up with...It isn't infected as far as he can tell, but it will be soon, and he needs to find some comfrey _fast_.

Isaac groans next to him at the loss of his body heat and opens his eyes, scrunching his face up against the bright sunlight.

“Shit!” he says, eyes widening and sits up fast. He looks down at Allison, around to where Cora and Lydia are curled into balls a couple feet away from them at the base of the rock formation, using it for shelter from the wind, and then finally to Scott. “How long have we been here?” he asks, voice hoarse from lack of water.

“I dunno,” Scott responds, his voice sticking in his throat uncomfortably. The sun isn’t high in the sky yet, but it’s definitely been several hours since dawn. “We need to find water and something to put on these,” he says, holding out his wrist.

Isaac winces and gets to his feet shakily, pulling Allison’s bloodstained sweater away from his head.

“Hey, how’s your head?” Scott asks worriedly, scrambling up to catch him in case he starts to fall. “Maybe you should take it easy.”

Isaac shakes his head. “No, I’m fine,” he says. “Allison, come on, get up, we need to move!”

Allison is slow to wake, but she’s not as bad as Lydia, who absolutely refuses to move and has to be dragged to her feet by Cora. Scott gives her an annoyed look, but doesn’t have the energy to berate her. The sun is beating down on them and while the warmth is welcome after the cold night it’s only going to make them more dehydrated.

They head further west, away from the Arena, on the lookout for lush green plants or mud with little luck. At least until Isaac climbs a tree and spots a river further west of them. From there it’s a grueling several hour walk and Scott almost cries once he hears the rushing of the water. It’s a wide river, bubbling and _loud_ , but Scott would just want to stare at it all day in amazement if he wasn’t so thirsty. Unfortunately for them the river has drilled deep into the bedrock. It’s more than an hundred foot steep drop below them. They end up having to walk another hour south to even get a drink. When the ground finally levels off enough so they can carefully climb down the sparse rock to get to the bank, Scott nearly falls into the river in thirst.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cora asks hoarsely when he sinks to his knees beside it and begins drinking it in greedily. “Don’t drink that, we need to purify it first.”

She’s holding a small machine that Scott recognizes as a water purifier from Games in the past.

“It’s probably fine,” Isaac says between gulps. “It’s a river. Probably same one in the Arena.”

“Fine, I’m not getting sick,” Cora says, dipping the hose into the river. Then she sets it beside her and lays back down on the rocky ground to wait while it collects water.

Allison looks at Scott and then shrugs, ducking her head down to drink more water.

“That’ll be good to wash these off with,” Scott says, gesturing at his left wrist. They’d found some clover, chanterelle, and gooseberries on the way (the only reason they’d been able to make it this far) but he still has yet to see anything he can use to disinfect their wounds.

Cora winces down at her own arm, but says nothing.

They rest for half an hour and then Scott and Isaac go up and down the river looking for more food while Lydia looks for fish in the river. She seems better than she was this morning, more put together, even though the only words she’d said were in suspicion of the food Scott found on the way to the river and insisted was edible.

To Scott’s delight he finds some coptis with fully developed roots, some cow parsnip, and more amaranth.

“Are these okay?” Allison asks him when he comes back to the river, holding out a handful of dark blue berries.

Scott frowns, he doesn’t recognize them. “What kind of bush did they come from?” he asks.

“That tree, over there,” she points at a large evergreen tree south of them.

“I think that’s a juniper,” Scott says, remembering the edible plants station at the Training Center. “Those should be good.”

“Should be?” Allison says, frowning.

“We don’t have those at home,” Scott says, with a shrug. He’d prefer to stick with what he knows, but they don’t really have that option. He takes one of the juniper berries and pops it in his mouth, grimacing immediately at the bitter taste. “Ugh, that’s terrible.”

He makes a salve out of the coptis root and is just smearing some on Allison’s forearm when Lydia is successful in spearing a large grayish fish, which both Isaac and Cora start salivating at the sight of.

“Salmon,” Isaac moans in delight as Allison starts a fire. “And it’s so big, too.”

“Alright,” Scott says with a grin. “But come over here, you too, Lydia, I need to wash off your wound and put some of this on it so it won’t get infected.”

He treats Isaac’s forearm, putting a large maple leaf over the salve to cover the wound and then gestures to his head. “Now your head.”

“You’re going to put that in my hair?” Isaac says skeptically, but bends over awkward to show Scott the top of his head anyway.

“No, just sit down,” Scott tells him, and then stands beside him, combing through his curls carefully to see the wound. “Sorry if this hurts.”

Isaac is silent, and very very still while Scott pushes his greasy hair away from the scabbed over wound in his head and applies the salve gently to it.

“Okay, all done,” Scott says, wiping his fingers gingerly on his jacket. He expects Isaac to get up, but instead he remains stock still, as if frozen in place. “Isaac?”

“Yup,” Isaac mutters, turning away from Scott and goes over to join Allison at the fire.

Scott frowns at his odd behavior, but turns to Lydia dutifully. “Okay, can you roll up your sleeve. Slowly, the blood has probably dried and stuck to your sweater.”

Lydia eyes him suspiciously, but hands the dead fish to Cora and lets him treat her wound without comment.

By the time the sun sets, they’re all stuffing their faces with the meager spread, too hungry to speak much. Scott falls asleep wrapped up in Isaac and Allison as protection from the cold, already thinking about food for tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

“You want to _what_?” Isaac says the next day, looking at Cora in confusion.

“We can’t just stay here, it’s too dangerous,” Cora insists, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest. “We need to cross the river, get to those mountains maybe.”

“How would that help, they have _hovercrafts_ ,” Isaac says. “If they were going to find us, they would have already.”

“Are you stupid or something?” Cora replies derisively. “You think they’re just going to _let us go_? Because they won’t.”

“So what’s your plan, we just run forever?” Allison asks, looking nervous and uncomfortable at the thought.

“What choice do we have?” Cora says bitterly. “We can’t go back.”

“How are we supposed to cross the river though?” Scott asks, wanting to keep focusing on the present because the idea of the future makes him want to throw up. “I can’t swim.”

“Of _course_ you can’t,” Cora says in disgust, rolling her eyes.

“ _Excuse me_?” Allison says sharply, turning to glare at her. “ _What_ did you say?”

Cora gives her a very strange look. “He’s from 12, of course he can’t swim,” she scoffs.

“Considering he’s been feeding us the past two days maybe you should consider being a bit nicer to him,” Allison says, shockingly aggressively.

“Er,” Scott says, a little embarrassed. “Allison, it’s fine, I-”

“ _Lydia_ caught the salmon yesterday, not him,” Cora snaps, starting to look angry with Allison now.

“Yeah, that’s one fish and that took her long enough,” Allison replies, and Scott gives Isaac a helpless look. He just looks rather amused at the entire exchange and Lydia is...not here.

She’s walking up the river, craning her neck to look at something. “Hey, what are you doing?” Scott calls after her. “Be careful, the rocks are slippery up there!”

She ignores him and continues maneuvering her way up the bank.

“Lydia!” Scott calls again and jogs a little to catch up with her, dodging carefully around too-smooth rocks.

“There!” she says, pointing across the river when he gets close enough. “Do you see that shining there? What is that?”

Scott squints. There is something shining across the river, thin and straight. Almost like a-

“Is that a chimney?” Isaac asks coming up behind him.

It is a chimney, and attached to it, blending in with the forest expertly, is a cabin.

“Well,” Cora says as they all goggle at it. “Looks like we’re crossing the river after all.”

 

* * *

 

It takes them three hours of arguing to figure out how to get across the river, most of which Scott spends trying to get the others to be nice to each other. They're all just so hostile, he doesn't understand, why can't they understand how counterproductive it is? If they could just be _polite_ to each other, everything would go so much smoother. But, no, they don't listen to him at all, and prefer to snipe at one another like children. Lydia does not even try to hide the fact that she thinks she's several times smarter than the rest of them, Cora and Allison are just _nasty_ , and Isaac doesn't seem to have anything to contribute other than sarcasm.

Finally, in the absence of any better plan, they decide to throw the rope Cora has in her bag across the river and use it to pull themselves across it. They have a brief argument over whether to tie the rope to an arrow and shoot it over or around a heavy rock and throw it, but Allison isn't sure the arrow is strong enough to withstand being shot into the solid rock on the other side. They find the heaviest rock they think they can throw, tie the rope to it firmly, and Isaac throws it as hard as he can across the river. Scott sighs in relief as it makes it to the other side hitting the bank with a loud clunk, audible even above the sound of rushing water.

"See, no problem," Isaac says, turning to Cora and smirking triumphantly.

"Good job!" Scott says happily and the smirk fades a little, turning into something more hesitant.

"I better go first," Lydia says, striding forward to the water, "I'm the lightest."

"Are you sure?" Scott asks in concern.  Being light seems like a disadvantage to him. The current is so strong- she could easily be carried away by it.

Lydia gives him a mistrustful look. "Someone needs to hold down the other side of the rope for you four. I have the best chance of getting across without any help."

None of the others object to this, so Scott just watches nervously as she enters the water and begins to pull herself through the strong current. It takes longer than he thought it would, almost ten minutes, but she eventually does make it, and collapses on the other side in exhaustion.

"You alright?" Scott calls over the rushing water.

She just waves him off, not bothering to raise her head.

"Lydia, get up, the sun's going down soon!" Cora yells at her, unsympathetic to her exhaustion.

Lydia complies, looking annoyed, and goes over to the rock to pick up the rope. Allison goes next and then Isaac. When it's Scott's turn he's shocked at how much upper body strength it takes to pull himself across. The stones beneath his feet are slippery, but they were better than nothing, and when it gets too deep to stand in the middle of the river he tries not to panic. His legs kick weakly under him and it feels impossible to pull himself even one inch further.

"Scott, don't kick, just keep pulling!" Allison calls through cupped hands while Scott flounders, river water getting in his mouth.

Scott squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about how dead he'll be if he lets go. He grits his teeth and forces to arms to move. Inch by torturous inch he pulls himself closer to shore, his palms red and irritated from rope burn. He gasps in relief when his feet touch the ground and inhales a mouthful of water, setting off another asthma attack. He chokes, clinging to the rope for dear life, inhaling more water.

"Scott!" Isaac shouts, dashing back into the water again. He grabs Scott by the waist and pulls him bodily to the bank.

"Sorry," Scott chokes when they reach dry land, cheeks burning in humiliation now that his life's no longer in danger. He hates how weak he is, being a burden on everyone around him. No one else had needed any help.

"You okay?" Isaac says, crouching down next to him, putting a hand on his soaked back.

"Yeah," Scott gasps and curls up a bit on the ground until the attack subsides. By the time he gets shakily to his feet, clothes dripping water and beginning to feel quite cold and uncomfortable, Cora has finished crossing the river and is looking down at him impatiently.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, squeezing water out of her jacket and wiping it off her forehead.

“Asthma,” Scott says, still breathing heavily.

“Whatever,” she says impatiently, rolling her eyes. “Alright, let's go.”

"Relax, it's not going anywhere," Allison snaps, coming up to Scott and unzipping his wet jacket, pushing it down his shoulders like a mother would undress her sleepy child. “And stop telling people that,” she mutters to Scott, rubbing up and down his arms to warm him up.

The others follow her lead and strip down to their white undershirts, but they can't do much about their soaking trousers and boots. Scott wishes their undershirts weren't white- wet they're pretty much see-through and he has to keep his eyes away from the girls' black brassieres showing through.

Shivering slightly, they make their way up rocky bank to the cabin hidden behind several large pines. It's made with dark wood and a rusted metal roof, looking like one shove might cause the entire thing to collapse, but it's bigger than Scott thought at first glance. Much bigger than his house in 12.

"Is it safe?" Allison asks skeptically, as they all hang back warily at the front door.

"Guess we'll find out," Isaac says and tries the front door.

It's locked, so they have to kick it open. The inside is dark and dusty, and Scott barely inhales one breath before he starts coughing.

He hangs back outside while the other venture into the cabin, trying to make out the inside. He sees wood floors, a couple dark shapes that could be couches, a table all the way in the back in front of what he thinks is a grimy window. He walks around the cabin, boots squelching obnoxiously with every step, noting the dirty windows and machines of unknown purpose attached to the back. There's a wooden deck in the back too, and Scott climbs the three steps up to it carefully, hoping the wood hasn't rotted through. The deck makes a large cracking noise when he steps on it and he leaps back off it. The back door flies open, Cora at the ready with an arrow pointing at his face.

"Sorry, you shouldn't come out here, it isn't stable," he tells her, raising his hands a little in surrender.

Cora looks down at the deck and then retreats back into the cabin without another word.

"We're airing it out, Scott, just wait a couple minutes," Allison says, coming to the door, her hands covered in black grime.

"What's in there?" Scott asks curiously, craning his neck to see around her.

"It's just a small house," Allison says, shrugging her shoulders like it's no big deal. "Two bedrooms, one bathroom, not that I recommend using it. Everything inside is really old, pre-Dark Days, definitely."

"Pre-Panem, more like," Lydia calls out from somewhere inside the house.

There's a screeching noise from the other side of the house and Isaac calls out, "Hey, Scott come over here."

Scott walks around the other side to see Isaac hanging out an opening window, hands as black as Allison's and a stripe of dirt on his cheek.

"It's a bedroom," he says cheerfully, stepping back so Scott can see inside.

It's actually a pretty large bedroom, with a desk and chair, closet, dresser and mirror, and a bed in the center almost as large as his bed in the Tribute Center. It has a maroon blanket on top and two pillows that don't look too dirty, but there's a nasty musty smell emanating out of the room that makes his nose twitch.

"I'm calling this for us," Isaac says decisively. "It's bigger than the other one. Just hang tight while I get the dust out of the blankets."

Shouldn't the girls get the bigger one? Scott thinks, watching Isaac gather up the bedclothes. There are more of them. But Isaac leaves the room before he can say anything, taking the bedclothes outside to shake them out.

After half an hour of shivering in his wet clothes feeling useless, the rest of them finish shaking out the bedclothes and sofa cushions. The cabin still smells terrible, but they're leaving open both doors to air it out, and he can step inside without choking immediately, so that's a good sign.

The cabin appears to be split into two main rooms, a space with couches a bulky-looking television, and a fireplace, and a kitchen. To the sides there are two bedrooms, a mold-encrusted bathroom, and a hall closet.

"There's not really much stuff here," Lydia says, noticing him looking speculatively at the kitchen cabinets. "I don't think anyone lived here permanently."

"Are there any clothes?" Scott asks, swallowing his disappointment. "We need to get out of these before we get sick."

There are in the closets, several bulky sweaters and denim trousers that are clearly for a very large man. Scott changes into the ones he found in bedroom Isaac claimed as theirs, while the rest of them argue over whether to start a fire in the sunken fireplace to dry their clothes and cook on. Cora is vehemently against it, fearing the smoke would draw unwanted attention, while Lydia refuses to live without heat like a "savage." When Scott comes back into the main room, they've all changed and they're all still arguing.

"Look, there are branches that don't release a lot of smoke," Scott says, trying to find a compromise. He walks across the wooden floor to one the couches in the large white socks he'd found in one of the drawers in the dresser of his and Isaac's room, wincing when the soles come away black.

“There’s still _heat_ ,” Cora shoots back. “They aren’t just flying around looking for us on the ground. They’ll have to be using infrared.”

“Yeah, well, then they’ll find us anyway, considering, I don’t know, our _body heat_?” Lydia says mockingly while Scott sits testingly next to Allison on the dark gray couch, the cushions sagging under him.

“Then we don’t want to make it any more _obvious_ we’re here, now do we,” Cora snaps, crossing her arms over her oversized blue sweater, the sleeves slipping past her hands with the unintended effect of making her look like a small child.

“Stop being intentionally obtuse, we’re not going to survive here without fire,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes at Cora. She’s taken her wet hair out of her ponytail and is combing through it with her fingers.

“We have blankets now, we’ll be fine!”

“If they’re going to find us, they’ll find us,” Allison says flatly, bring her bare feet up to the couch and covering them with the bottom of one of the aforementioned blankets. “There’s no point in freezing in the meantime.”

“Well, that’s cheery,” Isaac says from her other side, rolling his eyes. The yellow sweater he’s wearing actually seems to fit him, though, like Scott and the girls, the trousers are much too large at the waist. Hopefully they’ll be able to find some belts.

“We’ll go find some oak or ash branches,” Scott says to Cora reassuringly. He really does not want to go completely without fire, not when there are a couple pots and pans in the kitchen and they could actually cook something for once.

Cora glares at him and stomps off to the other bedroom, the effect ruined by her holding up her trousers at the waist.

“Good riddance,” Isaac says, stretching back against the couch and causing it to tip a bit. “Can we find food too? I’m starving.”

Lydia goes down to the river to try and spear another salmon, making it quite clear that she does not want any of their help, even though Isaac looks intrigued at the possibility of more fish. Scott finds an oak tree and collects an armful of branches for the fire, while Isaac and Allison look for edible plants and roots.

They cook the fish and burdock root over the fire and by the time the sun sets Scott’s eyelids are drooping.

“Wash it tomorrow, you’re exhausted,” Allison tells him, taking the pan out of his hands and leading him towards his bedroom. It’s only after he’s burrowed himself under the covers that he realizes that Allison is getting in after him.

“Uh,” he says, raising his head a little. “Why are you... I thought you’d be with Lydia and Cora.”

“Why?” Allison asks, looking offended.

Because you’re all girls? Scott wants to say. It feels weird sleeping in the same bed as a girl, even though he, Allison, and Isaac, have been curling up together for days now. It just seems wrong somehow.

“Oh, please do, this bed was not made for three people,” Isaac says from his other side, wrinkling his nose at Allison.

“No,” Allison says shortly, and then turns her back on them.

Scott blinks in confusion at this reaction while Isaac scoffs and rearranges his pillow. He doesn’t understand why she seems so insulted. It’s only natural that she would want to be with other girls; isn’t she uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed as them?  It doesn’t seem safe, from her point of view.

Scott rolls on his back and is asleep seconds after his head hits the pillow, too exhausted to make sense of Allison’s contradictory behavior.

He wakes up a couple hours later in pitch black, something heavy on his chest. It’s Allison, he realizes, her long hair tickling his neck, but she’s not what woke him. Instead, it’s Isaac, making small distressed noises in the back of his throat and twitching next to him.

“Hey, hey, Isaac,” Scott whispers, trying not to disturb Allison as he gently pushes her off him and turns over on his side to look at Isaac. “Hey, Isaac, wake up.”

He shakes him, once, and Isaac’s body jerks violently and he lets out a shocked gasp.

“Isaac?” Scott asks after a couple seconds of silence. He’s pretty sure he’s awake now. “You okay?”

Isaac doesn’t say anything, just inhales shakily and brings his hand up to his face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Scott says soothingly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Everyone has nightmares.”

Scott is actually surprised he hasn’t had any himself after all they’d been through. He guesses he has that to look forward to along with the Capitol finding and killing them.

Isaac stiffens for a moment and Scott almost takes his hand back, worried he’s making him uncomfortable, but then he rolls over and presses his face into Scott’s shoulder. His arm goes around Scott’s waist and it makes something in Scott warm to think that he trusts him so much. Maybe that’s why Allison didn’t want to sleep with Cora and Lydia-they did try to kill her two days ago, after all. Maybe she felt safer with him and Isaac. It’s a nice feeling, too nice, and Scott automatically chides himself for reading into things.

Isaac doesn’t move away and Scott doesn’t push him off, just strokes his back gently until they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he wakes up a bit early and changes back into his tribute clothes, which have dried overnight. Then he goes outside to get some more sticks for the fire and comes back in half an hour to find the rest of them cooking the leftover burdock root.

“Next time, maybe tell us where you’re going?” Cora says bad-temperedly, squeezed into the far corner of one of the couches so she can keep all of them in her sights

“Oh, sorry,” Scott says, because it hadn’t really crossed his mind. Allison and Isaac look equally annoyed and he has to suppress a smile at their overprotective behavior. “I got some more juniper berries and winterbloom; it’ll be good to put on our arms. I was thinking we should set up some snares today, if we can find the right kind of vines.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Isaac says cheerfully, shrugging on his jacket over the yellow sweater, the only article of clothing he’s kept while the rest of them changed back into their old clothes. “God, I miss meat.”

“I can help you look,” Allison says, getting up and smoothing down her trousers, looking eager to get moving.

“Well, you three have fun with your orgy, but I’m going to get clean first,” Lydia says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “My hair is filthy.”

“What’s an orgy?” Scott asks. He wishes people would just use normal words instead of the weird Capitol equivalent.

Everyone else turns to look at him.

“Is he serious?” Cora says, giving him an incredulous look.

“Uh, yes?” Scott says, wondering why she’s talking like he’s not here.

“Do they teach you _anything_ in 12?” she asks next, disdainfully. “No wonder you all have ten children.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Scott says, anger flaring up in his chest. He knows what the rest of Panem thinks of 12, but she has no idea what she’s talking about. She’s from District _4_ , a Career. She’s probably never gone hungry before. “ _What_ did you say about my district?”

Cora raises her eyebrows. “Huh, so you’re not a complete doormat. I was wondering how you lasted so long in the Games.”

“Look, just back off,” Isaac says before Scott can say anything else, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

They go down to the river, Scott still fuming, and Cora fills up her water purifier while Lydia takes off her jacket and sweater to wash herself off. Except she doesn’t stop there, pulling off her undershirt to reveal her brassiere.

“W-What are you doing?” Scott says in horror, spinning away from her, embarrassment rising in his cheeks.

“Washing myself off…?” he hears Lydia say in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Allison asks him and when he turns towards her he sees that she’s also taken off her undershirt and is in the process of unbuttoning her trousers.

“Uh...I’m...I’ll just go,” Scott says, tearing his eyes away from her and walking quickly back up the bank.

“Hey, Scott, where’re you going?” he hears Isaac call, clearly seeing no problem in spying on naked girls when they’re bathing. He feels a little sick at that realization, but he doesn’t want to stop and try and convince him that he needs to leave too, how improper his behavior is. He remembers Isaac looking at Allison when she was unconscious and saying “not bad,” and knows that he wouldn’t understand. He just needs to get away from here and get the image of Lydia’s breasts (big ones, too) out of his mind.

“What’s his problem?” he hears Cora ask and Lydia responds with something about District 12 that he can’t quite catch.

He goes back to the cabin and stands uncertainty in the main room. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he go out and try to find more food? Probably. So he does, and comes back to the still empty cabin an hour later with more clover, meadow mushrooms, and amaranth. He’s putting them on the cutting board in the kitchen when Isaac comes in, his hair wet and dripping on his jacket.

“Hey, why did you leave all of the sudden?” Isaac asks him, snagging a meadow mushroom and popping it into his mouth. “No offense, but you really need a bath.”

“I’ll take one later,” Scott says shortly, not looking at him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Isaac asks, confused by Scott’s bad mood, but before Scott can snap at him that he finds his behavior disgusting, the cabin door opens and the girls trail inside and head for the fire immediately, wet and shivering.

“There you two are,” Lydia says, giving both of them an unimpressed look. “You know what we’ve learned today? Men are weak. This one ran away the second we showed a little skin and this one wouldn’t even take off his shirt.” She points at Scott and Isaac in that order. “You both smell terrible, go wash off.”

“Hey, I washed!” Isaac protests, glaring at her.

“Sticking your head and appendages in the water does not count, at least where I come from,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes. “I’m assuming bathing is something done while nude, even in 7 and 12.”

“We can do that later, I’m going to make some snares,” Scott says, trying to steer the conversation away from bathing. For some reason the idea of washing in front of Isaac makes him extremely uncomfortable, even though he did it at the creek in the Games.

He goes into the bedroom to see if there’s anything he can use as a basket so he doesn’t have to carry around any food he finds in his pockets before Lydia can complain some more. He finds what is probably a waste bin, but it’s clean on the inside, so he figures it’s good enough. Lydia and Isaac are still arguing in the main room and Scott sighs, sitting on the bed and wishing everyone could just get along.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the dresser and winces. He looks terrible. His cheeks are hollow with starvation, his eyes are glassy, and his clothes hang off him. It’s not that he’s surprised; he knew he was in bad shape because of how easily he tires from just walking, but seeing it brings it home in a way knowing it couldn’t. He stands in front of the mirror and lifts his shirt, wincing as he counts eight ribs visible. He’s never been this skinny before, not even right after his mom kicked his dad out and they could barely eat once a day. The others aren’t exactly in perfect health, but he’s clearly the worst off of them all. They’d had fat and muscle to lose in the first place, unlike Scott, who’d already been a stick when the Games started. Giving Allison and Isaac all his food the last two days of the Games definitely made things worse.

He drops his shirt and goes back to sit on the bed, feeling exhausted all of the sudden. He can’t go down to the river to wash with Isaac. Scott doesn’t want him to see him like this, even though Isaac’d seen Scott shirtless just a couple days ago. It’s vanity, he knows, but a harmless one. It would just cause more problems; Isaac would worry, try to get him to eat more, probably drag Allison into it, and Scott just can’t deal with that. It’s better if he keeps this to himself.

He goes out to wash just before sundown while they’re waiting for water to boil on the fireplace, hastily scrubbing down his skinny body and hair before drying himself off with a blanket he’d brought from the couch. When he gets back they make a stew out of edible plants so they’re not so bitter, though unfortunately Lydia couldn’t catch any fish to add to it. He checks over all their wrists to make sure they’re healing properly and applies more of the salve before they eat. The temperature drops as the sun goes down and they all are reluctant to leave the fire in the main room, except Cora, who seems to dislike them more than she cares about being warm.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” Allison says finally as Scott’s eyelids begin to droop, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket.

“S’cold,” Scott mumbles, but he sits up anyway and blinks quickly several time to wake himself up.

“Oh, _I’ll_ keep you warm,” Isaac says from the other couch with a smirk.

“Thanks,” Scott says, smiling at him gently.

Allison glares at Isaac for reasons Scott doesn’t understand and pulls him to his feet.

“You three are disgusting,” Lydia says, sitting on the other side of the couch from Isaac, wrapped up in a checkered blanket so that only her head sticks out.

Scott frowns and looks down at himself. “I just washed a couple hours ago.”

“Watch your mouth,” Allison snaps at her defensively.

Lydia scoffs and rolls her eyes, turning away from her to look at the fire, while the three of them head to the bedroom to sleep.

Scott’s just about to fall asleep half an hour later when he hears muffled coughing noises from outside. He sits up, despite his exhaustion and stares at the closed door. Is someone sick? Allison and Isaac are both asleep, but Allison makes an angry protesting noise in the back of her throat when he extricates himself from the bed and pads over to the door. He opens it quietly and slips into the main room to see Lydia still curled up on the couch, sobbing quietly into her hands.

“Hey, are you okay?” Scott whispers, closing the door behind him and walking towards her.

“Go away!” Lydia says into her hands, shoulders hunching. “Leave me alone!”

“Okay...” Scott says hesitantly, even though his instincts tell him to comfort her. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

She doesn’t reply, just continues sobbing into her hands and Scott’s heart aches for her. He sits down next to her on the couch and rearranges the blanket on her shoulders carefully, not really sure what to say.

“I’m so stupid,” she says suddenly, shoulders shaking violently. “I can’t believe...I can’t believe I fell for it. I spent years training...preparing...for _what_?! Jackson is _dead_ and I couldn’t, I thought I’d...I’m so stupid!”

“No, hey, you’re not stupid,” Scott tells her gently, even though his throat tightens and his chest begins to hurt. He’s always been a sympathetic crier. “You did your best. You did as best as y-”

“I can’t believe I _volunteered_ for this!” she sobs, rage mixed with her misery. “I can’t believe, I thought it’d be- I was so stupid! And Cora’s right, I’ve killed us all, I’ve killed my parents, I-”

“Shh, don’t think that,” Scott says, even as something lurches in his gut at the thought that the Capitol might retaliate against his mother for his escape. He touches her shoulder hesitantly and then more firmly when she leans into him. “You saved us. You got us out. Don’t torture yourself over things you can’t cont-”

“What do you know?!” She turns to look at him furiously, eyes blotchy and swollen from crying. “I killed two people at the Cornucopia! What do you have to say about that?”

Scott swallows. “You wanted to live, right?” he says, his voice wavering slightly under her furious gaze.

“And you didn’t?” she replies harshly.

“I did,” Scott says with a helpless shrug. “I just knew it wasn’t going to happen.”

She scoffs, turning back to her hands and lets out another helpless sob. “Please just go away,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to see me cry.”

She’s still quite pretty even when she’s crying, but that would kind of be a weird thing to say, so Scott just gets up uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

“Get out,” she hisses and Scott does as she says and slips back into the bedroom.

He figures he’ll just get back into bed, but from the dark shapes that he can make out from the firelight from under the door both Allison and Isaac are sitting up, awake.

“What the hell are you doing?” Allison says, her face obscured by shadows, but she sounds furious.

“I was…” Scott says, unsure what to say.

“Why are you talking to _her_?” Isaac asks suspiciously.

“She was upset,” Scott says, confused by they’re reacting so badly.

“So, what, you were _comforting_ her?” Allison says, sounding disgusted.

“I...yes,” Scott says. “She was upset. Why are you...What’s wrong with that?”

There is a long pause. Neither of them say anything.

“Never mind, just come to bed,” Allison snaps, pulling back the blanket.

“But why-”

“Just go to sleep,” Isaac says, sounding equally annoyed.

Scott gets back into bed dutifully, trying to figure out what they were so mad about. Neither of them curl into him like usual, but instead avoid any contact with him. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't really have much to say about this chapter other than that I'm happy they're finally out of Arena. One of the major themes in this fic is me trying to write a story without the main character getting in physical fights, which I'm kind of embarrassed to say is a first for me. It's actually really hard, and I always worry it won't be an interesting read. Also, writing with the main characters knowing they are being constantly filmed got old really fast. So I am excited for a new setting (in a conveniently located cabin). Please comment!


	7. The Refuge

When Scott wakes up, his stomach is already growling with hunger. He sits up and rubs his eyes, stifling his yawn. He turns toward the right when he realizes that Allison is up and standing by the window. Completely naked from the waist up.

It actually takes Scott a second to realize what he’s seeing; her pale smooth skin, the swell of her breasts and light pink nipples, her hair loose and fanning over her shoulders, framed by the pale morning light from the window behind her. He’s never seen a naked girl in real life before. Heat flares in his face.

“I- _Sorry_!” Scott yelps, whirling around to look away from her.

Isaac gives a startled noise beside him and sits up so quickly he almost hits Scott in the head with his. “Wha’s going on?” he says, looking around wildly.

“I’m, I’m so _sorry_ ,” Scott gasps in horror, feeling like a terrible person, sliding out of bed with his back towards Allison. “I didn’t realize-no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“What’s your problem?” Allison says, not sounding the least bit mad at him for seeing her naked. Instead she sounds annoyed. “You were like this yesterday, too.”

Isaac looks over her briefly with absolutely no shame and then turns to Scott in confusion. “Is this some weird 12 thing?” he asks, rubbing his still-hairless chin absentmindedly. “You a virgin or something?”

“Yes,” Scott says, wondering why he said it like it’s a bad thing.

“What?” Allison says from behind him, suspiciously, like she thinks he’s lying to them.

“But-” Isaac says, looking like his entire world has fallen apart in front of him. “But you’re _hot_.”

Scott blinks at him, unsure how to respond to that. It was such a _Capitol_ thing to say. In 12 people would say ‘pretty’ or ‘handsome,’ but ‘hot’ has a sexual connotation that always made him uncomfortable. He could never really tell if it was a compliment or not.

“Okay…” Scott says uncomfortably. He doesn’t really understand what Isaac means. He knows he’s not ugly or anything, but he’s dark and so skinny right now...it’s just odd that Isaac thinks he’s handsome.

“Turn around,” Allison orders and Scott does automatically, his eyes darting away from her when he realizes she only put on her brassiere, a wide black thing that presses her breasts flat against her chest. It’s good to see that the long wound on her left side has healed, though, leaving behind a thin white scar.

“How are _you_ a virgin?” Isaac asks him, still looking incredulous. “You’re all nice and stuff. I figured you’d have girls all over you.”

“I...no,” Scott says, alarmed at this assumption. “No, it’s...we don’t really. In 12, we don’t really, you know.” He feels his face flush again at referencing sex in front of a girl. “Not until we’re married. It’s just not wise.”

He feels a little sick at their reactions, because he’s pretty sure they mean neither of them are virgins. Allison makes sense; she’s a girl, but she’s from District 2 and their have looser opinions about premarital sex there because of their proximity to the Capitol, in addition to access to prophylactics. But Isaac...he doesn’t like to think of Isaac having sex back in District 7. What if he’d gotten some poor girl pregnant? It happens in 12 sometimes. Scott was always disgusted with the boys who took girls to the Slag Heap, even if they ended up getting married eventually. He just doesn’t understand; if they really respected them at all they’d wait. But instead there are a couple girls every year who get pregnant and half the time their lovers try to disavow all responsibility, claim the child isn’t theirs. If they’re from the Seam their families usually step in and make sure they do the right thing. You can’t get married until you’re 18 and graduated, but they’ll have a toasting ceremony anyway and they’ll be married in the eyes of the district even though they won’t be able to file the paperwork at the Justice Building until they’re finished with school. But if they’re merchant boys...there’s nothing to be done. Most of the girls they get in trouble (all from the Seam, of course) end up on his mother’s kitchen table.

“What, there’s no condoms in 12?” Isaac asks, frowning a little at the thought.

“No, not really,” Scott says, surprised and relieved that Isaac knows what condoms are. Most of the boys in 12 certainly don’t. “I think the butcher makes them from animal intestines, but only the merchants can afford them.”

“ _Animal intestines_?” Isaac repeats in disgust. “Ugh. No sex before marriage? 12 sounds _terrible_.”

“It’s just not very,” Scott says, struggling to explain. “It’s not very wise to...before.”

Isaac looks dubious at this reasoning and then turns to give Allison a pointed look. Allison frowns for a second and then looks disgusted, grabbing her undershirt and tugging it on. Scott looks between them in confusion, uncertain what they’re in disagreement over.

“So why did you leave yesterday?” Allison asks, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him suspiciously.

“I…” Scott says, confused why she doesn’t understand. “It’s...it’s not proper.”

“Proper?”

“Respectful to...to look,” Scott clarifies, his face burning in embarrassment now.

Allison scowls, like _this_ offends her. “What if I wanted you to?” she asks, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“Why would you want me to?” he asks, bewildered. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone looking at him naked.

“So, you’ve never...not even once?” Isaac asks, still caught up on Scott’s virginity. “You just...don’t?”

“No,” Scott says, feeling even more uncomfortable. He’s starting to think that they have the wrong impression, that he’s being _noble_ somehow by waiting until marriage when in reality no girl in 12 had ever looked at Scott. Not that he could blame them. Women in 12 wanted someone strong and capable; a man who could protect and provide for them and their children, which was never going to be Scott. He would have barely been able to provide for himself once his mother died. As a result, he always knew it was highly unlikely that he’d ever find a wife. It was sad, but it hardly matters now, when whether he’ll survive another week is up in the air.

He can’t tell them that-what would be the point? It’d sound like he was trying to get them to pity him. Even worse, it’d make him look more pathetic to them than he already does.

It feels dishonest, though. Letting them think that he’s resisting temptation out of virtue, like he’s some great person.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” he says, trying to change the subject, grabbing his boots at the foot of the bed and putting them on quickly. “We shouldn’t waste the day.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, the two of them still goggling at him while he leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

Lydia pretends like nothing happened the night before and addresses Scott coolly while they search for food. Scott tries to focus on observing her carefully to make sure she’s alright, but he keeps getting distracted by the memory of Allison’s bare breasts, the curves of her body, her long hair, and glittering dark brown eyes.

This can’t be happening to him, he thinks as he watches Allison reset one of his snares. He can’t get a crush on a District 2 girl. The terrible timing aside, they’re sleeping in the same bed now and that is just the _opposite_ of proper.

Don’t be so pathetic, McCall, he thinks, trying to keep his eyes away from her as they climb further into the woods in search of more food. Sweet on a District 2 girl. Why do you have to make things so hard on yourself?

She’d never like him back. Allison is strong and beautiful, and she’d never be attracted to someone weak and sickly like him. Skin and bones, dark-skinned, asthmatic- it’s almost funny how far out of his league she is. She deserves someone strong, someone she wouldn’t be constantly annoyed with.

The entire thing is stupid anyway. They’re in the middle of nowhere hiding in an abandoned cabin from the Capitol after _breaking out of the Hunger Games_. As much as they all try not to think about it, they have no future. Sooner or later, the Capitol will find them and then they’re through.

Still, it won’t do to be untoward. Scott considers trying to sleep on the couch that night, but he thinks she’d probably get offended and demand an explanation. And then probably stab him with her knives for his presumption.

He spends the night nervous and guilty as she sleeps on his shoulder, finally drifting off halfway through the night.

He wake up with Isaac pressed to his back, clutching him tightly and snoring softly in his ear. Scott smiles a bit, snuggling back further into him under the blanket, enjoying the warmth. The rest of the bedroom is freezing and it’s always nice to be wrapped up in Isaac’s arms. Isaac groans sleepily, tightening his hold on Scott and scootching closer until something hard hits the Scott’s behind, like-

Oh. Well. That’s never happened before.

It should probably gross him out, but instead it makes him weirdly nostalgic for when he and Stiles used to share a bed while his mother was dying. It’s not exactly comfortable, but Isaac’s hand feels nice on his stomach and he doesn’t want to disturb him, so Scott decides to let it slide.

At least until he realizes that he has an erection as well. And Allison is lying next to him facing him, her body only inches from him.

Scott feels himself go cold with fear and wriggles out of Isaac’s grip as quickly as possible, heart pounding in his chest. He hasn’t gotten an erection since he was Reaped, for obvious reasons, so he hadn’t thought...it’d never even occurred to him-what if she woke up and saw-

Isaac grumbles in complaint and rolls over onto the space that Scott had occupied, burying himself under the covers. Scott watches him uncertainly, wondering if he should wake him up to and let him know. But he isn’t touching Allison, not really all that close, and Scott can’t imagine how awkward that conversation that would be, so he just grabs his jacket off the dresser and holds it in front of him as he leaves the room.

He goes outside and walks around a bit in the cold morning air until it goes away, even though it’d be nice if he could...well, take care of it. He’d never really had much privacy at home to do that, but he couldn’t just masturbate in the woods. That would be...weird.

He goes inside after a bit because it’s getting cold, and peeks into the bedroom to see Allison sitting at the edge of the bed putting on her boots, while Isaac shifts restlessly under the covers, starting to wake up. It doesn’t look like she’d noticed, so maybe he could distract her until Isaac realized his...problem.

“Hey,” he says, pushing the door open. “You sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Allison says, giving him an odd look, most likely because he’s never asked her that before.

Isaac groans and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh, we had better caught a rabbit today, I’m starving,” he says. “If not, I am taking Cora’s rope and using it for snares, I don’t care what she says.”

“Good luck,” Allison says, looking unimpressed with Isaac’s chances stealing from the District 4 Career.

“So, I was thinking we could start drying some of the stuff we find, for emergencies,” he says, trying to keep Allison’s attention on him.

“We don’t even have enough to eat as it is,” she says, giving him a confused look. “We can’t afford to save anything.”

“Hey,” Isaac says, sounding delighted, peaking under the blanket. “My dick’s back!”

For a second Scott thinks that he _can’t_ be saying what he’s thinking of, but it could really not be anything else.

“What?” Allison says, scowling.

“My dick’s back,” Isaac repeats happily, like the first time wasn’t bad enough. “Those hormones from the tracker finally wore off. Let me tell you, not being able to jerk off for that long _sucked_.”

“No one cares about the state of your dick,” Allison says in disgust, getting up and shrugging her jacket on. “And don’t you _dare_ jerk off in this bed. I will cut it off if you try.”

“Okay, overreaction much?” Isaac scowls, glaring at her. “I bet _you_ haven’t gotten off lately either.” He turns to Scott. “What about you? Yours back?”

Scott can only stare at him, face burning with embarrassment. He cannot believe he’s actually talking about this, that he just asked him that.

“I think you broke him,” Allison observes.

“I...what do you mean, hormones from the tracker?” Scott asks, trying to steer the conversation away from himself.

Isaac frowns. “No one told you? All the boys get it so we can’t fuck anyone in the Arena. Guess something must have happened that even grossed the Capitol out.”

Yeah, Scott thinks, feeling sick, he can guess what must have happened.

“Right, well, I’m going to wake Cora and Lydia up,” Scott says and flees before Isaac can say anything else horrifyingly embarrassing.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, are you making a net?” Scott says later that afternoon, coming down to the river to get some water to see Cora weaving vines together with alarming speed.

She scowls up at him. “Yes,” she says shortly.

“For fish or a snare?”

“Fish,” she says, looking even more annoyed. “I’m not sure it will work, though, so don’t get your hopes up. I’ve never fished in a river before and the current is really strong here.”

“Do you make a lot of nets in District 4?” Scott asks, cupping some water in his hand and swirling it around a bit before taking a drink.

“Yes,” Cora says, rolling her eyes. “We do make a lot of nets. And since Allison _stole_ my bow and arrows, I’m going to try and catch more than one fish at a time.”

“Oh, she did say she was going hunting, but I didn’t know…” Scott starts guiltily.

“Whatever,” Cora says flatly. “I don’t care.”

Scott watches her scabbed fingers work quickly and wonders what District 4 is like. It must be be nice to be by the ocean all the time, with as much fish as you can eat. It made sense that District 4 would be one of the Career districts, even have whole Career and Victor families like Cora’s.

Cora curses under her breath and begins to undo some of her work. “I hate these vines, they’re not stiff enough. I wish my brother was here, he’s much better at weaving nets than I am.”

“Your brother’s Derek Hale, right?” Scott asks, sitting across from her on a warm rock. “Who won the 65th Games?”

“Yeah,” she says bitterly. “And my sister Laura died in the 63rd, my Uncle Peter won the 52nd, and my mother won the 33rd.”

“Oh,” Scott says. He hadn’t heard about her sister. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Cora doesn’t look up at him, but her lips thin. “Everyone with the Hale name gets Reaped now,” she says shortly. “That’s just what the Capitol does.”

Scott nods, not really knowing what to say to that.

Allison shoots three squirrels and a rabbit, and everyone pitches in to help skin and cook them, practically drooling at the prospect of a decent meal. They put the squirrel in a stew with roots and tubers and Scott slices the lean rabbit meat to fry up with saffron milk cap mushrooms.

“Here, use mine,” Allison says, noticing him struggling with the dull knife he’d found in one of the kitchen drawers, handing him one of her daggers.

“Are you sure, I don’t think those’re for cooking,” Scott says, wiping his greasy fingers on the cutting board.

“It’s yours anyway,” Allison says, thrusting the knife at him.

Scott takes it. “What do you mean, mine?”

Allison shrugs, avoiding his gaze, looking out into the main room where Isaac is stirring the stew over the fire while Cora adds nettles carefully and Lydia throws out the bones and pelts. “They sent me two. One for you and one for Isaac.”

“Oh,” Scott says quietly, looking down at the perfectly balanced blade in his hand. Allison still won’t look at him. Her face is blank, but her hands grip the counter tightly. “It’s okay,” he says, wanting to reassure her.

She turns to look at him coldly. “No, it’s not,” she says. Her knuckles whiten on the counter, like she’s restraining herself from lashing out at him, dark eyes boring into his. Then she shoves off and goes to check on the stew.

Scott looks after her, holding the weapon meant to take his life, and finds himself suppressing a smile. She hadn’t wanted to kill him and Isaac, all the way back then. She likes them, even though she tries to pretend she doesn’t.

Finally their dinner is ready and they gorge themselves on stew, rabbit, mushroom, and sumac berries. It’s the best meal Scott’s had since the Capitol and it’s the first time he hasn’t gone to bed hungry since the beginning of the Games. If they can keep this up, catch fish with Cora’s net, start drying things for winter, maybe they can do this, he thinks optimistically, snuggling into Isaac’s shoulder happily. Maybe they can survive.

 

* * *

 

Scott wakes early the next morning, just after dawn, the room still dim from lack of light. The days are long here; even without a clock he can tell that the sun rises much earlier than at home and sets much later. He shifts over onto his side, intending to go back to sleep, when he notices that Allison is awake next to him, sitting up and looking down at him.

Scott smiles at her sleepily and is about to ask her what she’s doing up so early, but she opens her mouth first.

“We should have sex,” she says.

“ _What_?” Scott says after he ascertains that he’s heard right, completely awake now.

“We should have sex,” she repeats, like he didn’t hear it clearly enough the first time.

“You mean...with me?” Scott says, bewildered, because why would she...why would she ever ask _him_ to- " _Why_?"

“I’m bored and you’re hot,” Allison says dismissively, looking down at him coolly. “And you don’t want to die a virgin, do you?”

Scott just gapes at her, utterly floored by this unexpected turn of events. How could she be so _forward_ about this? He never got the impression that women liked sex much, at least in 12, mostly just did it to keep their husbands happy. The Capitol is different, he knows, but he never thought Allison would ever-

“I...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Scott stammers, feeling his heart pound in his chest, his face heat up. Isaac is still asleep on the other side of the large bed, and there's pregnancy, and he can't just-

Allison rolls her eyes. “I’m not doing anything that could get me pregnant,” she tells him flatly, shifting closer to him.

Scott doesn’t know what to say and just keeps staring at her with wide-eyed surprise.

“I know you like me,” Allison says accusingly when he doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Horror fills him up to his throat and he suddenly realizes that his left hand is brushing her thigh. He yanks it away, mortification choking him. “Sorry,” he whispers, feeling his face get even redder. What would his mother think if she knew he’d been leering at some poor girl who was stuck with him for the foreseeable future?

“For what?” Allison asks, looking confused. Then she scowls. “So do you want to or not?” she asks impatiently.

He could do it. Allison is very beautiful and she clearly knows what she wants. But when he thinks about sex, really thinks about it, the mechanics, it just seems so...undignified. Unnecessary and even cruel. The idea of using a woman like that, imagining it unvarnished by fantasy... it’s always made him sick just thinking about it. If it ever was to happen, he always thought he’d be married his first time, or at least engaged. Then it could mean something, for starting a family. But even then he thinks about being seven years old, pretending to be asleep,  and listening to his mother comfort a sobbing newlywed merchant girl, and thinks he could never do that to a woman.

Allison isn't a virgin, and he has absolutely no idea why she would ever want to lie with him, but it's very clear it means nothing to her. “I’m bored and you’re hot,” she’d said, as casually as talking about the weather. He’s just convenient to her. She’d have asked Isaac instead if she didn’t dislike him so much.

This isn’t how he wants his first time.

“I...I think I’m going to pass,” Scott says, trying not to let the hurt show on his face.

Allison glares at him. Scott shifts uncomfortably under the blanket, hoping she isn’t going to become angry at his rejection.

“I really like you,” she grits out after a pause, and it takes Scott a second to understand what she said because she just sounds so _angry_ about it.

“Oh,” he says, unsure of what that means. She looks so unhappy he has to swallow back another apology.

“So can I?” she says, sounding hesitant.

“Uh…”

She leans down and kisses him. It feels very odd, just a mouth pressing against his, which is what it is, of course, he just always thought it’d be different. More, somehow. Still, even that slight press of her mouth against his makes heat flood through him, his dick twitch in want. His eyes already closed, Scott tilts his head up for more and she gives it to him, mouth pressing against against his harder and tongue slipping in his mouth. That seems a little odd, but good somehow too, even though he can’t do much than to hope he doesn’t choke. Allison pulls away after a moment and smiles down at him. It’s a nice smile; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile like that before.

“I really like you,” she repeats and Scott gasps quietly when she moves over to lie on top of him, her breasts pressed right to his chest. She kisses him again and he moans quietly, putting his hands on either side of her waist to steady her, her long hair falling down to brush his neck.

She breaks away to kiss his neck, taking one of his hands and guiding it on her left breast. Scott groans at how soft it is, how good she feels under his hands, on top of him.

“Isaac likes you too, you know,” Allison murmurs against his neck, smoothing one hand down his chest and causing him to jump a little. He hopes she can’t tell how skinny he is. “He would probably tell you too if he wasn’t pretending to be asleep.”

Scott’s eyes snap open and he turns his head automatically to see Isaac staring at both of them, his cheeks stained dark.

Oh, no, Scott thinks, mortified. That was so awkward.

He can’t think of anything to say and before he can come up with anything Allison sits up on his stomach and pulls off her shirt and brassiere, letting them fall onto the floor next to the bed. Scott gapes up at her bare breasts, feeling himself get even harder, and Allison smirks in triumph and leans down to capture him in another kiss. Scott groans when her breasts brush against his chest, wondering if it would be okay if he-and clearly it is because Allison drags his hands back up to touch them again, and Scott almost feels lightheaded as he cups them both gently, fascinated by her smooth-soft skin and nipples.

The bed shifts next to him and Allison breaks the kiss. They both turn to see Isaac has gotten off the bed and is heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Allison asks him, sounding annoyed.

Isaac looks a little surprised at the question when he turns around, flushed down to his neck. “Uh...away?” he says awkwardly, avoiding Scott’s gaze.

“Why?” Allison says. “Come back here.”

Isaac’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, looking very shy and uncertain.

Allison sits up again (Scott can’t help but watch the slight bounce of her breasts) and points at the empty space on the bed next to them. “On the bed. Now.”

Isaac steps forward hesitantly, coming slowly to stand back next to the bed and sitting down on the edge of it nervously. He looks very anxious, but he’s not looking at Allison, he’s looking at _him_. He’s scared, Scott realizes, watching his pupils dilate in his expressive blue eyes. He’s scared of _him._

That can’t be allowed to stand, Scott thinks worriedly, observing the fear of rejection all over Isaac’s face. Isaac can’t be afraid of him. Without much thought he sits up as well, jostling Allison a bit and reaches out for Isaac’s collar. He pulls him in and presses his mouth against his, stroking his thumb reassuringly against Isaac’s cheek.

He hadn't thought much about the kiss back in the Games. There'd been much more important things to worry about at the time, after all. He'd sort of thought it was something human and desperate born out of fear. Not romantic.

It's undeniable now though, as Isaac clutches him like he always does and kisses him desperately, newly grown stubble rasping against Scott's chin. His large hands slide around Scott's waist, slipping under his sweater and undershirt to smooth over Scott's lower back. Scott moans at how good it feels, and Isaac takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in his mouth, hauling Scott closer to press his chest against him.

It occurs to Scott that he's probably not a very good kisser, as he clumsily tries to copy the movements of Isaac's tongue against his. His lungs are starting that telltale burn, so he reluctantly pulls away to breathe.

"Sorry," he says breathily, momentarily fascinated by Isaac's blond eyelashes so close to his face. "I'm probably not...I've never kissed anyone before."

The look that Isaac gives him then makes him blush even more, before Allison, who had been dislodged from his stomach when Isaac pulled him closer, tugs him back down to the bed. She presses his head back into the pillow and climbs over him again, sliding her hand under his sweater, causing him to jump a little when she pushes it up.

"Can I?" she says, frowning a little like it hadn't occurred to her to ask.

"Okay," Scott says before he can think about what a bad idea this is.

He pulls off his shirt awkwardly, hoping that dim light will disguise how skinny he is, and Allison kisses him again sliding her hands down his bare chest. Isaac moves in to nuzzle at his neck and Scott moans when he kisses it, sucking at places that make him shiver, not understanding why that feels so good.

Then she presses her bare skin against his and Scott shudders, his trousers uncomfortably tight, and fists the sheets as Isaac bites into his neck, leaving him panting with want.

“You too,” Allison says to Isaac, guiding Scott’s hands to her breasts again. “Take off your shirt.”

Isaac pulls back and looks uncomfortable for a second, but then he clenches his jaw and pulls off his undershirt. Scott can see the reason for his hesitation immediately. Even in the dim light he recognizes the thin white crisscross patterns from a whip on his skin.

“What did you do?” Scott asks without thinking, Allison very still on top of him.

“...what?” Isaac says after a pause, his eyes very wide.

“I mean, did you steal something?” Scott asks, looking at the lash marks in horror. He’s never seen ones so bad before, not even on some of District 12’s worst offenders. Stealing is punishable by death in 12, but he knows the lower districts are more lenient about that sort of thing.

“No,” Isaac says, and actually lets out an unamused laugh. “My dad didn’t like me very much.”

His father had...those terrible marks, he’d- Scott can’t imagine-

“It’s not a big deal,” Isaac snaps, shoulders stiffening, no doubt reacting to the look of horror all over Scott’s face.

Scott reaches up automatically and cups Isaac’s face, pulling him gently down onto the bed and kissing him gently. Isaac lets out a quiet desperate noise and kisses him back furiously, pinning Scott down and moving from his mouth to his neck to the top of his neck. Scott clutches at his scarred shoulders first, then his coarse hair as he moves lower, kissing down Scott’s chest, licking at his nipples like they’re made of candy. It probably should be weird, someone kissing him in all these places that isn’t his mouth, a _boy_ kissing him, but it feels too good for him to care. Allison’s soft skin is pressed to his side and she blows in his ear gently, causing Scott’s jerk and tighten his hands on Isaac’s hair as he nuzzles at his belly button.

Allison reaches out to turn his head towards her and he kisses her helplessly as Isaac moves to lie in between his spread legs and continues to pay an inordinate amount of attention to Scott’s chest.

Then Allison starts to unzip his trousers.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Scott chokes, grabbing her wrist.

Allison pulls back and gives him an odd look. “Jerking you off,” she says flatly, like it should be obvious.

 _Oh_ , that’s, well, Scott thinks incoherently, dick twitching at the thought of her touching him. But why would she...he’d always thought it was rude to ask a girl to do that. It is kind of gross.

“I…” Scott says, flushing. “I mean, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do something you don’t want to do.”

Allison raises her eyebrows at him coolly. “I want to,” she says with absolutely no emotion in her voice.

Do you really? Scott wonders, looking at her uncertainly. It doesn’t really seem like it.

Allison rolls her eyes at him and kisses him again, rubbing over Scott’s crotch firmly. Scott groans and hides his face in her neck when she unzips his trousers and pulls his dick out, part of him still unable to believe this is really happening. Isaac comes back to lie against his side and suck at his neck and Scott lets out an embarrassing high-pitched whimper when she starts to stroke him.

It’s different than when he does it himself, more intense, but at the same time she’s way gentler than he is. He bucks his hips up for more friction automatically, panting in Allison’s neck, and moans when he gets it. Isaac’s hands stroke over his chest and his belly and it doesn’t really take long at all until Scott spends in her hand.

Feeling suddenly way too overheated, Scott rolls onto his back and pants for breath, looking dazedly up at the ceiling. Wow, he thinks.

Isaac curses next to him and presses himself closer to Scott’s side, his erection poking him in his hip. Allison leans over him, her breasts pressing to his bare chest and kisses him gently while Scott gasps for air.

“Oh,” Scott says when she pulls away. “That was…”

Great? What is the etiquette here? Is he supposed to say thank you?

Allison smirks down at him, hands tightening on his sides possessively, and then she looks up at Isaac.

“You should do down on me,” she tells him, and for a second Isaac goes still against him.

“Hmph, fine,” he scoffs, and then rolls over Scott to get to her.

Scott props himself up on his elbows curiously- he doesn’t know what Allison means by “going down.”  He watches Isaac unzip Allison’s trousers and push them and her underwear down perfunctorily, gut tightening at the sight of all that pale, smooth skin.

Isaac does not seem to agree. “Ugh,” he says, looking down at her and sounding disgusted. “Where is your _hair_?”

“What?” Allison says, confused, but not at all embarrassed at him examining her nether regions.

“Did they rip that off too?” Isaac says, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly.

“Yes, I wax…” Allison says, taken aback by this reaction.

“You mean you do this on _purpose_?” Isaac says incredulously. “ _Why_?”

Allison rolls her eyes and shoves his head down between her legs. “Shut up and put that mouth to better use.”

Isaac makes a muffled noise of disapproval against her...well, and Scott watches in shock as pulls her thighs apart and begins to lick between them. Allison grips his hair tightly with one hand, bucking her hips up, and lets her head fall back against the pillow, pleasure all over her face.

This is obscene, Scott thinks, but is unable to tear his eyes away as Allison brings her hands up to cup her breasts. She’s quiet, but he can tell by the blissful look on her face that she’s enjoying herself. Isaac doesn’t seem to be coming up for air at all as he licks at her. His left hand leaves her hip and creeps between her legs to join his tongue, but Allison stiffens and smacks it away.

“No fingers,” she orders, only a little out of breath. “I don’t like fingers.”

Isaac makes a complaining noise and rolls his eyes at her, but his hand returns to her hip and he continues working her over with his mouth alone. After a couple minutes she stiffens, her face contorting in pleasure, and then her hips jerk wildly against Isaac’s face. She’s utterly silent, the only noises she makes the gasps for air as she falls back to the bed in exhaustion, tugging Isaac’s head up off her.

“Ugh, finally,” Isaac says, wiping his wet mouth. “Should’ve known you’d take forever.”

Allison doesn't reply, just stretches, the corners of her lips tilted upward in a hint of a smirk. Isaac flops off her and pops the button on his strained trousers.

"You going to return the favor or what? " he says, glaring down at her.

"No," Allison says flatly. "I don't like that."

"Of _course_ you don't," Isaac scowls and Scott opens his mouth to ask if he could, with his hand, he wanted to try-

But Allison pulls Isaac down to the bed and flips him over onto his back. She straddles him and unzips his trousers, sticking her hand inside with very little preamble. Isaac's eyes go wide and he chokes a little as she pulls him out. Scott rolls over onto his side to get a better look automatically, heart pounding in his chest.

"Hands on the headboard," Allison orders, holding off on stroking him, and Scott expects Isaac to balk, to refuse and tell her to get a move on. He's so hard it must be painful.

Instead, Isaac turns bright red and raises his hands above his head to clutch onto the wooden poles dutifully.

Allison smiles and leans down to kiss him, pressing herself against his bare chest. "Good boy," she murmurs and Isaac gasps, red spreading down his neck and to his collarbones. He shivers as she takes him apart, trying and failing to suppress little whimpers, knuckles turning white as he clutches the headboard. He's loud when he spends and watching it, hearing it, makes something in Scott kick in pleasure, his face hot, eyes fixed to Isaac's screwed up expression.

Allison rolls off him as soon as he's done and presses herself against Scott's front, curling an arm around his waist.

"You like that?" she says with a pleased smirk, kissing him quickly.

Scott did, _a lot_ , but it seems sort of uncouth to admit, so he just kisses her back and runs his hands down the smooth skin of her back.

Behind her Isaac watches them, looking kind of lost, still holding onto the headboard, though limply.

"Hey, how about..." Scott says, needing to touch him too. He rolls Allison over onto his other side and then reaches out for Isaac, pulling his arms down from the headboard gently until Isaac scootches over and curls himself into Scott's chest, hiding his face in his neck. Scott strokes his back gently, not smooth like Allison's, but ridged and scarred. Scott thinks he has even more scars on his back than he does on his front. Scott kisses his temple and runs a hand through his curly hair, causing Isaac to shudder and grip him tighter.

He turns to Allison, who's watching them carefully and reaches for her shyly. Allison smiles, the real smile, and drags the blankets they'd kicked to the foot of the bed and pulls them up over them, snuggling into Scott's side.

This is really weird, Scott thinks, but at the moment he's too tired to care and falls asleep easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read any of my other stories, you knew the awkward sex scene was coming. I don't know why they amuse me so much, but I just can't help myself. :D Please comment!


	8. The Detour

Allison is gone when Scott wakes up. Isaac is still asleep on his chest and Scott looks down at him fondly and then winces when he realizes his stomach is covered in dried semen. Ugh, _gross_.

He shifts uncomfortably, wishing he’d had the sense to wipe himself off last night. Isaac gives a jerk and makes a confused noise, raising his head.

“Uh, sorry,” Scott says. “Did I wake you up?”

Isaac doesn’t answer, just looks at him for a second before breaking into a grin. He raises himself up on his arms over Scott and hovers over his face.

“Hi,” Isaac says purposefully, voice low and flirtatious.

“Hi,” Scott says back, blushing.

Isaac kisses him and drops down to lie on top of him, his stubble rasping against Scott’s chin. Scott moans and grips his shoulders tightly, wanting him as close to him as possible even though he’s heavy. Isaac’s hands worms down under the blanket and Scott lets out a little whimper when he grabs his dick. His hand is a lot bigger than Allison’s, obviously, and he jerks Scott off a lot more roughly, sucking at Scott’s neck as he moans and squirms beneath him.

“Isaac, I’m going to- _ah_!” Scott says and spends, arching underneath Isaac’s body and clenching his shoulders tightly.

He stares up at the water-damaged ceiling and tries to breath normally, heart going a hundred miles an hour in his chest. He never imagined it was like this. Scott had always thought of sex as something furtive and shameful, something best done only for children and avoided otherwise at all costs. Not Isaac’s hands and mouth trailing all over his body, leaving Scott desperate for more.

Isaac shifts at his side and Scott blinks a couple times to get his focus back and rolls onto his side. “Do you want me to…” he says shyly, gesturing at Isaac’s erection. He’s not sure he’ll be any good at it, but he’d like to try and see if he can make Isaac feel as good as he made Scott feel just now.

“Um, okay,” Isaac says, equally as shy. But hasn’t he done this before?

Scott scoots closer to him and kisses him chastely on the mouth before unzipping his trousers (stained slightly from last night as well) and touches him carefully. Isaac moans and presses his face into his shoulder before he even starts, examining the feel of his dick in his hand curiously. It’s not as gross as he thought it’d be. He gives him a stroke, twisting a bit at the head, and is shocked when Isaac gasps and immediately starts leaking into his hand. That easily?

It’s definitely a confidence boost and Scott pulls Isaac closer, stroking him in earnest now. Isaac shakes against him, hiding his face, and whimpers for a couple shockingly good minutes before he grunts loudly and spends into Scott’s hand. Scott makes a face and wipes it on the corner of the fitted sheet while Isaac trembles through the aftershocks.

“Shit,” he swears, nuzzling his nose against Scott’s neck. “I can’t believe you’re a virgin. How are you a virgin?”

“I just...am?” Scott says, bemused at his preoccupation with his lack of experience.

“Mmm, don’t worry, we’ll soon change that,” Isaac says, breath hot in his ear and Scott shivers, even though technically isn’t he not...or did it only count if it was with a girl?

He raises his head and looks down at Scott, but after a second his grin fades away into a frown. “You’re too skinny,” he says critically, eyeing Scott’s protruding ribs and Scott feels sick all of the sudden, cold spreading through his lungs. He thought...so stupid, it was daytime now, he should have covered up or put on a shirt. How could he have thought Isaac wouldn’t notice how terrible he looks?

“I’ll get you a rabbit today,” Isaac says, oblivious to the way Scott’s trying to shrink into himself. He kisses him again and pulls back to grin at him. It’s contagious and Scott finds himself smiling back hesitantly, stroking his fingers up and down Isaac’s spine.

“What are we doing?” Scott wants to ask, when the sound of Lydia and Cora talking in the main room causes them to rise and pull on their clothes. He doesn’t understand what this is, he never thought… with another boy. There were words for men who did things with other men, all of them horrible, and it makes Scott a little sick to even think about it, but-

Did it really matter? They were all going to die anyway. What’s wrong with doing something that feels good before their lives are over?

“Morning,” Scott says awkwardly, shivering a little in the chill air and approaching the fire.

Cora gives him a disdainful once over and turns back to where she’s carving a spear out of a large branch she’d found with a kitchen knife.

“Morning,” Lydia replies brusquely, and hands him a stick of mushrooms she’s cooking over the fire. “Be careful, they’re hot.”

“Thanks,” Scott says, giving her a quick smile and sitting down on the maroon couch across from Cora. From this angle he can see into the kitchen and he’s surprised to realize that Allison is cutting something up on the cutting board.

He raises his hand to wave at her awkwardly and she shoots him a dark look, eyes narrowing. Scott drops his hand, feeling like an idiot, and looks down at the mushrooms in his hand. They’re still letting off heat, so he should wait another minute or two before he eats them.

Scott’s halfway through his breakfast when Allison comes into the main room and sits on the other side of Isaac, munching on small pieces of white root she’d cut up. She doesn’t even glance in his direction, and Scott feels something in him sink when she declares she’s going hunting and leaves with Cora’s bow and arrow without so much as a word to him.

Was she lying last night? Scott thinks numbly as Cora and Isaac get into an argument over what kind of branch she’d chosen to make her spear out of. Did she not like him after all? Was she just saying that for...for sex?

She continues to ignore him when she comes back from hunting with two squirrels, and Scott feels more and more miserable as she sits on the other side of the room and cleans her knives. He goes down to the river to wash himself off and get more water, but when he comes back everyone else is gone and she’s still there, cleaning her knives.

“Where did they go?” he asks her hesitantly.

“To check the snares,” Allison says with a shrug. “Isaac said he could reset them himself, so…”

“Okay,” Scott mutters and brings the water into the kitchen quickly, cheeks burning in humiliation. He was so stupid. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she wasn’t telling the truth last night.

He pours some water into the purifier and then looks back up while he waits for it to run through, itching his chin where stubble is starting to grow. Allison is glaring at him.

“Uh,” he says, confused at this hostility when he hadn’t even done anything.

“Whatever,” Allison snaps, and goes outside without warning.

Scott blinks at her abrupt departure and then turns back to the water purifier. He’ll have to sleep on the couch tonight. It would be uncomfortable, but at least it’d be warmer. Maybe Isaac’d come too and they could...but even the thought of kissing and touching Isaac isn’t enough to make him feel any less used. He’s so stupid. Everyone always told him he was too naive, and he guesses they were right.

He should probably go out and find more food, but Scott feels very tired after carrying the water up the hill and goes to sit on the couch as close to the fire as possible after transferring the purified water into a pot. He sits there for a while, dozing off, and jumps upright when the door flies open with a loud bang. Allison strides through carrying a small bird with an arrow through it and heads to the kitchen, her face set with anger. Scott raises his head and watches her pluck it violently, and feels a new sense of unease come over him. Why is she so angry? She looks up from the bird to see him looking and glares at him angrily. Scott looks away and sags in his seat, confused and worried. He was leaving her alone like she so clearly wanted-why was she so mad? What else was he supposed to do?

Unless...unless he’d done something that made her so angry. Last night couldn’t have been... _she’d_ been the one who...he can’t think of anything he’d done to make her react like this. But just because he couldn’t think of anything doesn’t mean he didn’t do anything, he realizes uneasily.

Scott gets up and walks over to the kitchen, but keeps his distance from her.

“Allison?” he says hesitantly.

“ _What_?” Allison says flatly, not looking up at him as she continues to pluck the bird.

“I…” Scott says, his stomach in knots at the thought he might’ve done something...ungentlemanly last night. He should have never, he should have known better. Sex is messy and dangerous, he _knows_ that. “Did I...did I do something wrong?”

Allison pauses in her plucking and turns her head to the side to look at him for a moment. “No,” she says coldly.

Scott doesn’t believe her. He feels sick. “I...I don’t know what I did, but if you could just tell me...I promise I won’t do it again.”

Allison’s expression wavers for a second and then morphs into suspicion. She lets go of the bird and turns toward him, taking a step forward and reaches for his right arm carefully, like one would go about petting a wild dog. Scott lets her grip his forearm loosely, grease smearing onto his jacket sleeve, confused by the way she’s watching his expression carefully, as if searching for something. She pulls him in closer and leans forward to brush her lips against his without shutting her eyes and then pulls back quickly to see his reaction.

“Uh,” Scott says, blushing. He has absolutely no idea what’s going on here.

“Do you…” Allison says, mouth twisting as if the words are sour in her mouth. “Do you like me?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, uncertain what to make of her frustration. “I mean, yeah! I like you.”

Allison smiles a little shyly and then nods firmly. “Good,” she says. She turns away then abruptly, sticking her hands in the plastic container of water and sand they’ve been using to wash their hands. She scrubs at them more harshly than Scott would have, and when she’s done she tugs him out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

She kisses him once they get into the room and kicks the door shut behind them, smiling as she twines her arms around his neck. Scott feels a sudden sense of desperation, that this all could be ripped away so fast, and cups her face in his hands, kissing her hard as they stumble back onto the bed.

A couple minutes later Scott is breathing heavily into her neck, clutching her bare skin, blood still rushing in his ears. Allison shifts him so that his face is in her breasts and Scott groans softly at how soft they are. He turns to look at her and grins brightly, bringing up his hand to stroke his thumb across her cheek.

“Do you want me to…” it occurs to him all of the sudden. “I could…” He gestures to his mouth uncertainly. He doesn’t really know what Isaac’d done last night to make her writhe under his tongue, but he should at least make an effort. Even though it does seem gross. It’s _wet_ down there apparently.

Allison shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says, grasping the back of his neck with one hand and pulling him up to kiss her. “Just kiss me.”

Scott does and feels Allison unzipping her trousers and reaching down between her legs to touch herself. He doesn’t know what she’s doing and he has to admit he’s curious as she gasps quietly and squirms around under him, making soft sounds in the back of her throat. She stiffens up and lets out a low moan after a minute and sags back onto the pillows, her cheeks bright red.

She smiles in satisfaction and shifts over onto her side, throwing an arm over Scott’s waist and stroking her non-sticky hand through his hair. Her eyes trail down to his neck and she scoffs a little.

“What?”

“He marked you,” she says, voice low, thumb rubbing over a couple places low on his neck.

“Marke...you mean a lovebite?” Scott says, trying to look down at his own neck to see and failing.

“A lovebite,” Allison repeats, looking amused. “We call them hickeys. Emphasise on the plural.”

“Oh,” Scott says, a little embarrassed. He remembered Isaac sucking on his neck a lot, but he hadn’t realized he’d been leaving behind marks. Did he do it on purpose?

“He wants to claim you for himself,” Allison says a little darkly.

Scott doesn’t know what to say to that, whether to feel flattered or affronted. “Oh,” he says instead. “How long do they last?”

Allison looks at him for a moment and then leans in, tilting his head back to press her mouth just below his jaw and bites at it softly. Scott shivers, clutching her shoulder to steady himself as she starts sucking on it, her nipples brushing his chest. She pulls away after a few seconds and smirks down at her handwork.

“Allison!” Scott splutters, realizing what she’s done and clapping a hand over the still-burning place. It was just beneath his jaw, his jacket collar wouldn’t hide that!

“Isaac needs to learn how to share,” she tells him unapologetically, curling close to his chest happily.

Scott opens his mouth to tell her that both of them needed to stop using his neck like their own personal chew toy, but then the front door opens and he hears the others come back inside.   

Allison looks a little disgruntled and tightens her arm around Scott's waist, like she is afraid he might be ripped away from her at any moment.

Scott knows they should probably get up, but instead he presses his nose in Allison's hair and closes his eyes, trying to shut the noises of the others out.

He hears them move around for a couple minutes and then the bedroom door opens.

“ _There_ you are,” Isaac says and Scott raises his head a bit to see him looking exasperated. “Finally decided to stop pretending we don’t exist?”

“One of us has to have some decorum,” Allison says stiffly, giving a pointed look at Scott’s neck.

Isaac grins unapologetically and rounds the bed, getting in next to Scott and nuzzling the back of his neck, “Anything left for me?” he asks, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Any what?” Scott asks, rolling onto his back and tugging the covers up to his neck self-consciously.

“Decorum, huh?” Isaac says, tilting Scott’s neck up and looking down at the mark Allison just made.

“Okay, both of you need to stop biting my neck,” Scott says, clapping his hand over the mark and glaring.

“Then I’ll have to keep my mouth occupied with something else,” Isaac says, smirking. “Can I blow you?”

“Uh…” Scott says, because that tone of voice makes something in him shiver, but- “I don’t know what that means,” he admits.

Isaac raises his eyebrows. “You don’t kno-A blowjob? Me sucking you off? Okay, I put my mouth on your-”

“I got it!” Scott squeaks, face hot. “Yeah, okay, I got it.”

“So,” Isaac says expectantly. “Can I? Or are you going to get all weird and 12?”

“I…” Scott says uncertainly, because he doesn’t understand why Isaac would want to...He knew what he was talking about, heard boys talking in the schoolyard about the girls who would go on their knees for them for free or who’d do it for a couple coins. The way they’d always talked about them...it was so horrible. He’s always wanted to punch them for the demeaning things they said about those girls, some of whom were their girlfriends. “You...like doing that?”

“Yeah, I like sucking dick,” Isaac says lasciviously, without even the tiniest bit of shame.

“Shocker,” Allison mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t listen to her, life’s too short to be a prude,” Isaac says, rolling onto his stomach and, smoothing his hand over Scott’s abdomen, right above where his traitorous dick is beginning to perk up interestedly.

“Umm,” Scott says, not really sure what to say, because it sounds _great_ , Isaac’s mouth on him, but he’s not really sure how that would translate into reality. It seems a little weird, sticking his dick in someone’s face, where Isaac would just look at it up close. “I think I-”

“Hey, weirdoes, get out here, let’s eat!” Lydia yells and Isaac groans in exasperation.

“Later,” he says, getting out of bed. “She and Cora caught a bunch of fish and our snares got two rabbits.”

Allison hands Scott his undershirt and sweater, and Scott pulls them on gratefully, clutching the covers to his waist as he eyes his underwear and trousers on the floor, just out of reach. Allison hops out of bed, naked from the waist up, and hands him the rest of his clothes with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” Scott says gratefully, putting them on under the sheets.

 

* * *

 

They’re all in good spirits as they prepare the food, though Scott’s face itches more and more and he makes a mental note to look through the bathroom again for a razor. It looks like Isaac was right, the hormones that always kept the boys in the Games fresh-faced have worn off and he’s going to be growing a beard soon if he can’t figure out a way to get rid of it. Shaving is uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as growing a beard, not that Scott has ever tried. He could never stand to miss even one day of shaving at home because he always hated the way his face felt with stubble. Also, it grows in patchy and looks terrible.

“They’re mostly healed now, but we should still keep them covered up,” Scott says, replacing the wide leaf over the healing cut on Cora’s wrist. “But as long as we don’t put any strain on them they should be fine. Allison, try and cut back on using your bow and arrows, your’s looks pretty irritated, I don’t want it to reopen.”

“It’ll be fine,” Allison says with a dismissive shrug. “I’ll be careful.”

“We need food,” Cora tells him, glaring at him as she rolls down her sweater sleeve. “Everything else is secondary.”

“We can get food other ways,” Scott says flatly. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt if they don’t have to.”

“Yeah, according to you they never have to,” Cora says with a sneer and gets up to take the spitroasted fish off the fire.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Isaac replies archily, leaning over and snagging two fish with his long arms and handing one to Scott.

“It’s naive and could get us killed,” Cora snaps, blowing on her fish.

“Yeah, cause _that’s_ going to get us killed,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. “Not, you know, the Capitol or anything.”

Scott’s stomach drops just at the mere mention of their gloomy future and he struggles to keep the misery off his face.

“We can easily die of starvation, which you’d know if you had even one working brain cell-”

“And Scott’s the only reason we haven’t, so I’d think twice before ridiculing him,” Allison cuts in, looking at Cora with obvious dislike.

“Just because he’s not completely useless, doesn’t mean-”

“Okay, can you just not?” Lydia snaps, taking a dainty bite of her fish. “This is a pointless argument, let’s just eat.”

“Who asked for your opinion, _1_?” Cora says, turning to glare at her. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess in the first place!”

“Okay, that’s enough-” Scott tries, but Cora whirls around to look at him and cuts him off.

“Now _what_ gave you the impression that you’re in charge here?” she asks scornfully. “You think that anything’s going to get done if we all just “be nice” to each other?”

“Yeah, I do, maybe you should try it for once!” Scott says, irritated at her constant need to be confrontational and negative.

“Are you-you really think that will solve everything?” she asks mockingly. “So we should all jus-”

“No, it won’t, but it’d be a start!”

Cora scoffs in disgust. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re a cun...you’ve got a larger stick up your ass than usual,” Isaac says, sneering. “What, you on the rag or something?”

“Isaac!” Scott says, turning to him in betrayal at yet another extremely ungentlemanly comment. Why does he feel the need to say things like that? “Don’t say that!”

“Hey, it’s a valid question,” Isaac says defensively, sinking back into the couch with his arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably.  

“I’m just surprised 12 here even knows what a period is,” Cora says derisively.

“My _name_ is Scott,” Scott say angrily. He actually doesn’t know what a period is, or he wouldn’t without the context. It must be the Capitol word for a woman’s menses.

“He’s not exactly the sharpest hook in the box,” Cora continues, ignoring him completely. “Has he realized yet how badly you two are gagging for his dick?”

“Oh, he realizes,” Isaac says with a smirk, making a rude gesture with his hand and tongue against his cheek.

Scott chokes, eyes bugging out and cheeks burning, because that was _not_ the kind of gesture anyone should be making, especially in front of a girl.

“Ugh, I did not need to know that,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes and getting up to check the soup.

“I can’t believe _you’re_ okay with this,” Cora says, giving Allison an odd look.

Allison raises her eyebrows coldy. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

Cora looks extremely disturbed. “You know, I thought Lydia was joking about the orgy, but you’re really-”

“-going to shoot an arrow in you if you finish that sentence? Definitely,” Allison says, back ramrod straight as her dark brown eyes bore into Cora’s. “Let’s be clear. You don’t get to comment on things that have nothing to do with you, and you do not get to insult people who’ve done nothing but help keep us alive.”

“So you think I’m just going to keep my mouth shut and let _him_ decide to cut our food sources because he’s too squeamish to do what needs to be done?” Cora retorts, getting to her feet angrily.

“I wasn’t saying tha-” Scott protests, wanting to explain his position, even though he’s pretty sure her emotional reaction means this isn’t just about food.  

“ _Squeamish_?!” Allison repeats angrily, leaping to stand as well. “If that’s what you think it is, then you’re stupider than I thought.”

“ _What_?” Cora says dangerously through gritted teeth, fists forming at her sides.

“‘Do what has to be done, no matter who gets hurt’? You’re just parroting the Capitol,” Allison says in disgust. “People like you are the reason we’re in this mess. People like _him_ -” She jabs her finger in his direction, not taking her eyes off Cora. “-are the solution. The world would be a much better place if there were more people like Scott. So unless you want to be helpful, I suggest you shut your mouth.”

Face burning with embarrassment at Allison’s words, Scott stares at her incredulously. This is just supposed to be about food, why is she making it about him? Being so defensive? But at the same time he’s deeply moved. No one has ever spoken about him like that.  

“Or _what_?” Cora says, rolling her eyes dismissively.

“Cora, just leave it,” Lydia says sharply, abandoning her pretense of stirring the soup and turning to look at her.

“Or we’re going to have a problem,” Allison threatens, pushing open her jacket to reveal her knives at her belt.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Scott says, jumping to his feet before this gets out of control. “See this is what I’m talking about, can’t we all just get along? Everything would be so much easier if we weren’t fighting all the time!”

“Not likely,” Cora says thinly and stomps off back to her and Lydia’s room with her fish.

“Can you talk to her?” Scott asks Lydia helplessly after the door shuts behind her.

“You think she listens to me?” Lydia asks, looking at him weirdly. “You know we’re not friends or anything.”

“I know, but maybe-”

“She’ll just have to get over herself,” Lydia says, unconcerned, taking a sip of her soup and grimacing. “Nothing I can do about it.”

Great, Scott thinks, looking around and observing how little everyone else seems to care. Just great.

 

* * *

 

He’s still fretting over Cora’s nasty comments when they go to bed, about her disgust when she found out what they were doing, and nearly jumps when Isaac rolls on top of him, kissing him deeply and going for Scott’s fly.

“Wha-hey!” Scott says, nearly choking on Isaac’s tongue and pushing him back a little. “Just, okay, don’t do that!”

“What?” Isaac says, sounding shocked.

“Just, give me a little warning, okay?” Scott pants, wiping saliva off his chin.

“Oh,” Isaac says, like it had never even occurred to him. He makes no move to get off Scott and his erection presses against Scott’s thigh. He tugs at Scott’s zip twice and Scott feels himself hardening just at the feel of his hand over him. “Can I?”

“Uh…” Scott says, unsure of what he means in light of their last conversation.

“Blow you,” Isaac drops his head down to murmur into his ear. “I’ve been thinking about your dick in my mouth all day.”

Scott can’t quite smother the weak noise in the back of his throat, and his dick twitches in want. “I…” he says, hesitating, but it’s dark now and the only light in the room is coming from the crack under the door from the fire in the main room. He won’t be able to see anything. And Isaac sounds like he really wants it. “Okay.”

Scott feels him grin against his jaw and then he slides down Scott’s body, making sure to leave no part untouched. Scott breathes heavily when he reaches his trousers and pushes them down enough to get his dick out. He feels constricted and overheated and wants to take the rest of his clothes, but he doesn’t get the chance because then Isaac’s mouth is on him and Scott can’t think anymore. He’s not all the way hard yet, but his body jerks automatically and next to him Allison reaches out to steady him.

“Shhh,” she says, gently while Scott squirms under the heat and suction of Isaac’s mouth. He whimpers and arches his back, trying to push himself as far into Isaac’s mouth as he can go and lets out soft cry when Isaac bobs his head and pins his hips down to the bed.

It doesn’t take long, probably only a minute or so, but his orgasm comes out of nowhere and he doesn’t even have time to warn Isaac before he spends in his mouth, letting out a shocked “Oh!”

Scott gasps for breath, momentarily lost in bliss while Allison strokes his cheek and kisses his face gently. He lets out a little whimper when Isaac pulls off him and flops down beside him, wiping his mouth.

“You enjoy that?” Isaac murmurs, slipping his hand under Scott’s shirt to run it over his stomach.

“Yeah,” Scott gasps, hopelessly honest, but also mortified. “I...sorry, I didn’t mean to...in your mouth, I-”

“Hey, I’ll swallow for you,” Isaac says lowly, making Scott feel almost light-headed. It’s pathetic, his reaction to that tone of voice.

“Do you, do you want me to…?” Scott says, blinking furiously in an effort to keep himself from falling asleep this second.

“Uh...no, I already…” Isaac says, sounding a little embarrassed and another wave of heat goes through Scott at the thought of Isaac touching himself while he sucked on Scott.

“Then come here,” Allison says, sounding strained, and pulls Scott onto his side to face her. She presses her forehead against his and breathes heavily- it only takes Scott a second to realize what she’s doing under the sheets.

He kisses her while her breathing speeds up, touches her breasts through her sweater hesitantly, half expecting her to get mad at him for his presumption, but Allison only moans and stiffens up after a minute, gripping Scott’s hip with her left hand tightly.

“Mm, this is nice,” Isaac says, pressing himself to Scott’s back and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him close.

Allison shifts next to him and pulls off her sweater before pulling the covers over herself and scooting next to Scott. “Don’t listen to Cora,” she tells him seriously, her face very close to his on the pillow. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She’s a bitch,” Isaac says sleepily, pressing his face into the back of Scott’s neck. “Or am I not supposed to say that either?”

“Yeah, don’t say that,” Scott says, bringing his hand up over Isaac’s on his stomach.

“Okay,” Isaac mutters and snuggles into Scott’s back further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will write a relationship in which all characters involved are mature, emotionally healthy people. Probably. But until then, I will continue to enjoy this dysfunction. 
> 
> As some of you may have seen on my Tumblr, I am still not finished with this fic. Currently it is almost 150k, and if I had to guess, I would say I'm about 3/4 of the way through. I'm hoping to be finished by this summer and to start posting more often then, but I make no promises!
> 
> Please comment!


	9. The Respite

The next day is beautiful, warm and sunny, and Scott goes down to wash himself in the river after breakfast.  He only took a bath once a week at home, because of how much work it is hauling that much water from the well, and it's nice to be able to be clean without all the effort. He wonders for a second what his mother is doing right now. It had just started getting hot when he left a month ago, by now the temperature is probably so high that everyone is avoiding going outside as much as possible. He and his mother always had strawberries in the summer, grown in the corner of her garden where no one would see them and try to steal them. He wonders what people in 12 are saying about the Games, if his mother is taking care of herself or if she thinks he's dead. Or maybe the Capitol came after her after the Games in revenge and she's-

Don't think about that, he tells himself, a chill running through him. He gets out of the water and tries to keep calm. She's fine, she has to be.

He's drying himself off when he sees movement a little downstream, and turns to see Isaac lying out on a flat rock in the sun 500 feet from him. He looks very comfortable in just his undershirt and trousers and his hair gleams golden in the sun.

Scott pulls on his clothes and walks downstream towards him, wanting a distraction from wondering about the future.

"Hey," he says once he gets close enough, looking over the long lean line of Isaac's body, his blond eyelashes against his cheeks. He looks very beautiful like this, Scott thinks.

Isaac opens his eyes and squints up at him. "There you are," he says and smiles. "Finally feels like summer, right?"

"Yeah," Scott says and sits down next to him, putting his arm on the other side of Isaac's body and bracing himself on it as he leans down to kiss him.

Isaac moans softly into the kiss and reaches up to wrap his arms around Scott's neck, pulling him closer. Scott straddles him and pulls away a bit to look down at his face, eyes at half mast, color rising in his cheeks as he looks up at Scott like he hangs the moon.

Why are you looking at me like that? Scott thinks as he leans down to kiss him again, running his hands down Isaac's chest. He's not...he can't think of anything he's done to deserve the way he's looking at him right now.

Isaac's hands sneaks under his sweater up his back and he tries to pull Scott down flush on top of him. Scott goes easily, groaning softly at the feel of Isaac’s erection at his thigh, but resists when Isaac tries to roll them over, wary of the sharp rocks next to them.

“Hey, don’t move,” Scott tells him, pressing his shoulders back down to the ground. Isaac shudders and lets hands fall off Scott’s shoulders above his head, as if in surrender. It makes something in Scott’s head buzz with pleasure and without thinking much about it he, slides his hands up Isaac’s arms to his wrists, pinning them to the rock.

Isaac shudders, looking up at Scott with absolute trust and arches under him, clearly wanting more contact.

Scott kisses him, stubble rasping against clean shaved skin and his knees hugging Isaac’s sides, but it’s not enough by the way Isaac keeps squirming and whimpering under him.

“Scott, _please_ ,” he begs when Scott breaks away to kiss his neck experimentally. He bucks his hips up desperately, but Scott doesn’t give.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Scott murmurs soothingly while Isaac takes shallow breaths. For some reason Isaac’s desperation makes him feel very calm, confident. He can do this. He can take care of him. “I’ll take care of you.”

Isaac trembles under him as he reaches down to unzip his trousers, holding his wrists with one hand in a grip he could easily break out of if he was so inclined. He’s not though, even as his hips strain upward as Scott touches him. He even presses them further down, twisting his neck to the side to give Scott more access. Scott responds by tightening his grip on them and is gratified to hear Isaac whimper.

It’s such a rush to see him spend, see him toss his head back, expression screwed up in pleasure, body straining for more of Scott’s touch, and Scott almost forgets his own erection, enthralled by the sight.

Isaac slumps back onto the rock in exhaustion, eyes sliding shut as he breathes heavily. Scott lets go of his wrists and he immediately wraps his arms around Scott’s neck and hides his face in his shoulder.

“Shh,” Scott soothes, maneuvering them to their sides and rubbing his back.

Isaac doesn’t say anything, just trembles for a couple minutes in Scott’s arms. Then he pulls back and puts a hand over Scott’s erection, causing his hips to jerk in surprise.

“Can I suck you?” he asks, sounding so hopeful. It makes Scott’s cheeks burn, how badly he wants to, that tone of voice.

Scott looks around their surroundings carefully, but there’s no sign of any of the others. They really should not be doing this out here, where anyone could see them, but he’s too hard to care right now. “Okay.”

Isaac grins in triumph and slides down. He’s even more enthusiastic than last time, taking Scott far into the back of his throat and swallowing around him and by the time Scott spends he’s willing to do pretty much anything Isaac asked of him.

“Oh, wow,” Scott says, staring up at the bright blue sky even though it kind of hurts his eyes.

“Hah, yeah, I’m good,” Isaac says, snuggling up next to him on his shoulder. “Got more practice with guys, but I’m good with girls too- the non-hairless freak variety at least.”

“Isaac,” Scott says warningly, frowning at his cruel words.

“What? It’s _weird_ ,” Isaac complains grumpily, not raising his head from Scott’s shoulder.

Scott really doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal, but he’s too tired to belabour the point and just absentmindedly pets Isaac’s hair. After a minute he realizes that that’s kind of weird- he’s not a _dog_ -but Isaac makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat when he stops, so Scott figures he likes it and continues running his worn fingers through his curls.

They lie there in the sun for a while until Isaac says he can feel himself beginning to burn and then they go back into the forest to look for more food.

 

* * *

 

“Your chin is scratchy,” Allison tells him later that afternoon, pulling back with a frown.

“Uh, sorry,” Scott says, hand jumping up to his face self-consciously. “There aren’t any razors here.”

“How did you shave then?” Allison asks Isaac. Scott looks over to where he’s lying on his back on the bed watching them and realizes what he should’ve this morning- Isaac is clean shaven.

“I stole one of your knives last night,” Isaac says casually.

“You can shave with those?” Scott says, surprised as he realizes that Isaac doesn’t have a single cut on his chin.

“I can shave with an axe if it’s sharp enough,” Isaac says with a grin and Scott winces at the mental image of how easily that could go wrong.

“Do him, then,” Allison orders, pulling Scott to the bed and handing Isaac one of her knives and a bottle of water on the bedside table next to her.

“I dunno, I think it kind of works for him,” Isaac says, sitting up and examining Scott critically.

“It really, really doesn’t,” Scott says, eyeing the knife warily. “Can you?”

“Uh, okay,” Isaac says and takes Allison’s knife. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s really annoying,” Scott says, wetting his face. Isaac scoots closer to him and takes his face in his hand carefully, his breath warming Scott’s cheek, the light from the setting sun illuminating the shadows of his face from their western-facing window. Scott stays as still as possible, nervous as Isaac raises the knife, but he is quite skilled at using it as a razor, even managing to get the rounded parts of Scott’s chin that he always manages to cut himself on. It’d be easier with hot water instead of cold, and Isaac goes very slowly and very gently. Scott watches the concentration in his blue eyes, the way he examines Scott’s face carefully for where to shave next and feels his face heat up inappropriately, skin tingling under the pads of Isaac’s fingers.

“Okay, all done,” Isaac says, pulling his hands away from Scott’s face.

Scott brings up his hands to touch his wet chin and is surprised to find that that’s probably the closest shave he’s had in his life.

“Good,” Allison says approvingly and pulls him down to lie next to her on the bed, kissing his slightly burning chin. Isaac wraps his arms around him from behind and Scott gets caught between them for a couple minutes, Allison stroking him off ruthlessly and Isaac sucking on his neck again, again, _really_?

“Allison, I was wondering, can I try-” Scott says after he gets his breath back, feeling weird about the attention always being on him. “Could I-” he gestures embarrassed to her lower body. “I mean, I probably won’t be very good at it, but I could try…”

Allison gives him an unreadable look with her dark brown eyes and then goes for her fly. “Okay,” she says calmly, like he asked her if he could borrow a pin.

Scott swallows as she removes her clothes and tries not to stare too hard at her breasts or the space between her thighs. Like Isaac, four of her ribs are showing and her cheeks are gaunt, but she’s not in nearly as bad shape as Scott is.

Trying not to feel anxious, Scott leans down to kiss her stomach, sliding in-between her thighs easily, hands shaking slightly as he smooths his hands down her thighs, her skin so much paler than his own. Allison breathes faster as he moves below her navel, but she is very quiet, patient as he works himself up to going lower. You can do this, he tells himself as his chin brushes the short hairs growing in between her legs. It still seems kind of gross, but Isaac seems to like doing it a lot, right?

“Don’t overthink it, just get down there, trust me, it’s worth it,” Isaac says, putting his hand on Scott’s shoulder and Scott thinks, screw it, closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

It’s surprisingly soft and wet, lots of folds of skin that Scott never knew existed, mostly because he’s never had contact with a woman’s nethers before. It tastes and smells kind of weird, but Allison’s soft hitching breaths and the way her thighs twitch around his head make him want to keep going, see what other sounds he can garner.

“Yeah, okay, just lick around like that and put your tongue in her,” Isaac says, sounding very far away.

Scott complies, stiffening his tongue and poking it inside her tentatively, where it’s warm and even wetter. Allison gives an unexpected jerk and Scott grabs her hips automatically to steady her, shifting as she tilts her hips up to give him better access. It’s shockingly arousing and Scott makes a soft moan, muffled against her and grinds his hips a bit into the bed.

“Okay, now, go up to her clit...which, you have no idea what that is, just go up a bit there’s this little, I dunno, thing there that you should suck on a bit…”

Scott complies, his nose bumping against what he’s pretty sure Isaac was describing, a nub or something that was hiding in her folds earlier, but Allison lets out a shocked hiss when he gets his mouth on it.

“Not that hard, just a little!” Isaac says. “And kind of rub your tongue against it, different patterns...uh, some people like the alphabet method, but it’s a bit cliche and that’s _26_ letters, so I think-”

Allison lets out a soft moan and rocks up against his mouth for more contact. That, the way she’s opened her thighs for him, how she bucks up against him and strains for his touch makes him almost dizzy with lust and he redoubled his efforts on the little nub, even though his tongue is starting to get sore.

“This is the part where I usually finger girls, but this one is all weird about it, which I don’t get,” Isaac rambles, though his throat sounds very dry. “I mean, who doesn’t like being fingered? Seriously, you’re missi-”

“Shut up!” Allison hisses and Scott opens his eyes to glance upward and see her grabbing him and planting his face in her breasts. Isaac makes an annoyed sound, but seems all too happy to occupy his mouth with those instead, his hands squeezing them a lot harder than Scott ever would.

Allison continues to moan quietly and shake under his tongue, but eventually she grabs his shoulder and pulls him off her.

“Wow, you couldn’t even fake one for him?” Isaac surfaces from her chest to say, his lips swollen red and extremely attractive-looking, probably because Scott knows what they look like stretched around his dick.

“No,” Allison says shakily and wipes Scott’s mouth off for him before kissing him frantically and sliding her hand down in-between her legs. It doesn’t take more than a couple seconds for her to stiffen, pressing her forehead into his shoulder and she twists and squirms it out under him and Isaac.

She pants, red-faced, and Scott feels a sudden protective urge run through him at the blissed out look on her face and wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He’s half hard again already, but he ignores his erection and focuses on the feel of Allison’s bare skin against him, her hair against his cheek.

“Mm,” Allison says after a minute, still not opening her eyes and shifts so that she’s on her back and that Scott is lying over her.

“Was that okay?” Scott asks, because Isaac had been the one giving instructions, not Allison.

“Yeah,” Allison, opening her dark brown eyes. She smiles at him and kisses him briefly, nuzzling their noses together.

Isaac shifts behind them, going for the fly on his trousers. “You should let me fuck you,” he tells Allison.

The peaceful look disappears off Allison’s face and she glares up at him. “No.”

“Oh, come on, I’ll pull out.”

“No,” Allison repeats flatly.

“Seriously?” Isaac scowls. “Don’t be such a prude. I’ve never gotten a girl pregnant before.”

“Are you going to try “just the tip” next?” Allison asks him sarcastically, bringing up the covers over herself.

Isaac lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Ugh, fine. Guess I’m never getting my dick wet again… Though…” he looks at Scott critically, eyes catching on his erection in a way that makes Scott blush. “You wanna fuck me?”

“We don’t have any lube,” Allison says dismissively, pulling Scott closer to her as if trying to keep him from Isaac.

“Pft, _lube_ ,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. “What, you think we’re rolling in dough back in 7? Lube is for pussies. Spit’s good enough for me.”

Allison looks him up and down consideringly. “Okay,” she says eventually, nodding in approval.

“Oh, like I need _your_ permission,” Isaac scoffs. “So do you want...you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No,” Scott admits in embarrassment, wondering what lube is.  

"Lube is this slick stuff that helps ease the way. Don't worry, I don't need it, just use spit," Isaac says nonsensically, pulling off his shirt. "So you should totally fuck me."

"Uh, haven't we already done that?" Scott says, a little embarrassed by Isaac's crudeness and confused why he's talking about it like it's something new.

Isaac stares at him for a second. "No," he says slowly. "I want you to _fuck_ me. In my ass. With your dick."

Scott stares back at him, eyes widening in horror. "You want me to..." he says just as slowly, because that _can't_ be what he means, "...to sodomize you."

"Soda-what?" Allison asks, confused, and Isaac bursts out laughing.

Scott doesn't see how it's so funny. He doesn't understand why Isaac would want to do that- he's never heard of any man letting that happen to him, not willingly.

“Oh, District 12,” Isaac laughs, flopping down on the bed next to Allison. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more terrible.” He notices Scott’s worried look and rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop looking like that, it’s awesome if you do it right.”

“Really?” Scott says, skeptical, because it just seems really...gross.

“ _Mm_ , you have _no_ idea,” Isaac says with a lewd smirk. “Take off your pants and come over here and I’ll show you.”

Scott shifts uncertainly against Allison’s body, intrigued by Isaac’s enthusiasm, but not entirely comfortable with the idea. Before he can open his mouth to ask Isaac to explain it a bit better, Cora’s voice rings out through the door.

“Hey, are we going to get more food or what? The sun is setting!” she yells. “Stop fucking and get out here!”

Scott’s eyes widen in mortification- had she _heard_ them?- but Allison and Isaac just look annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Isaac scowls, pulling his shirt on again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, we’re coming.”

“You should probably clean up,” Allison tells him as she pulls on her clothes as well, and it takes Scott a second to realize that she’s looking at his mouth. He touches it and is embarrassed to find crusty white residue on the lower half of his face.

“Uh, right,” he says, scrubbing it off quickly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Allison says after Isaac leaves the room to argue with Lydia and Cora outside. “I’ll bet he’s probably a lot less annoying with a dick in his ass.”

“Uh,” Scott says, not really knowing what to say to that. It hardly sounds like a compliment.

“Do you really not talk about sex in 12?” she asks as she pulls on her jacket, looking puzzled.

“No, I mean, a little, I guess, but it’s not…” Scott says, trying to explain. “It’s kind of...improper.”

Allison raises an eyebrow, clearly not understanding.

“And men don’t generally, two men, you know, don’t-” Scott says, flushing a little and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Really?” she says, looking surprised. “What if they don’t like women?”

“I...don’t know,” Scott says, having never thought about it before. Most men in 12 got married, if they were healthy and strong enough to find a wife. There are a couple bachelors in the Seam that he knows of...could they be who Allison is talking about?

He never really thought about two men together, certainly not himself with another boy. Or a boy and girl at the same time. They’d all be arrested in 12 if people found out, he realizes for the first time since this started with an uneasy pang in his stomach. Probably be put in the stocks and publicly shamed.

It doesn’t seem wrong, though. They’re not hurting anyone, just being...together. Intimately. Allison and Isaac don’t really like each other, but they like him and he likes them, even though they’re so different. Allison is strong and beautiful, and tries to pretend she doesn’t care about anything even though she does. Isaac is sarcastic and biting, but incredibly loyal, with an underlying desperation for affection that makes Scott want to take care of him. He’s not sure what they see in him, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Can I try to...to blow you?” Scott asks Isaac later that night, when Lydia and Cora have finally left the main room and gone to bed. He’s spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about it, waiting until dinner was over and they were back in their room again so he could ask. He’s a little nervous about it, but Isaac seems to like it. And then it’ll be fair, instead of Allison and Isaac doing everything for him and getting nothing in return.

“Uh,” Isaac says from the foot of the bed, freezing in the middle of taking off his boots. There’s barely any light in the room, but Scott can still see the apprehensive look his face has taken on. “You want to?”

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s okay,” Scott says, wondering why Isaac isn’t more enthusiastic about it.

“ _Obviously_ it’s okay,” Isaac scoffs, but he still seems hesitant somehow, shifting a little uncomfortably as he kicks off his boots.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Scott says, a little hurt by the lack of interest, but not wanting to pressure him. “I don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Isaac stares at him in confusion.

“You think he _doesn’t_ want you to suck his dick?” Allison asks incredulously from her place already under the covers.

“Well, I don’t know,” Scott says honestly, already regretting bringing it up. He just thought...it’d be nice.

“No, it’s oka...it’s great!” Isaac stammers, looking very nervous.

That does not exactly sound like he wants to, Scott thinks, his palms beginning to sweat. He probably just shouldn’t. Safer that way.

Isaac makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and swings his legs over the corner of the bed to face Scott. He reaches out to pull Scott into him by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him, spreading his legs so that Scott’s standing between him. He keeps pulling until Scott tips down on top of him and wraps his arms around his waist to keep him close. He kisses Scott desperately and when Scott breaks the kiss and presses his mouth hesitantly against his neck, he shudders and tilts his head back for more.

Scott runs his hands down his chest, kissing at his neck and sucking a bit at the places that feel good on himself. Isaac is very responsive, grinding his hips up and letting out soft sounds of pleasure, and desire crashes through Scott like a wave at the way Isaac arches under him. They separate briefly to pull off their shirts and Scott’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of Isaac’s warm skin against his. He strokes his hands down his bare chest, his fingertips catching on his scars and follows his hands with his mouth. He remembers what Isaac’s done to him, kisses down his sternum, sucks on his flat nipples, and bites gently at the soft skin of his belly.

“Oh, shi-shit!” Isaac gasps, shaking beneath him and grips Scott’s shoulder hard. Scott looks up to see Isaac pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, shaking like a leaf.

“Isaac?” Scott says questioningly. “Is it okay if I-”

“Yes,” Isaac bites out, shoving Scott’s head further down. “Just do it!”

Allison shifts at the other end of the bed and crawls forward to lie on her stomach in front of Scott. “Go on,” she says, in the cool dismissive voice that she always uses, but she puts her hand on Scott’s bare shoulder and strokes it gently.

Scott swallows and goes for Isaac’s fly.

It’s a lot more difficult than going down on Allison. Isaac tastes very bitter and Scott can only get part of him in his mouth. He’s worried about accidentally scraping him with his teeth and has to be very careful as he sucks on him and swirls his tongue around the head. He’s more than aware that he’s doing a terrible job, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Isaac, who is shockingly loud. Cora and Lydia must be able to hear him and it’s a relief when Allison crawls up to his head and kisses him to shut him up, even though the sounds of Isaac moaning his name make Scott burn with pleasure. Still, Scott’s mouth and jaw get tired after a while and he has to take a break, replacing his mouth with his hand. Then he realizes he can use both, and Isaac makes desperate whimpering sounds that Allison can’t suppress when Scott strokes the base of his dick, tracing quick patterns with his thumb, and sucks on the head. Scott chokes when Isaac unexpectedly thrusts deep into his mouth and has to pull back to cough.

“Fuck, sorry,” Isaac turns his head away from Allison to say, looking contrite.

“It’s okay,” Scott says hoarsely, wiping his mouth.

“Control yourself,” Allison orders, giving Isaac an annoyed look.

“I didn’t mean to-” Isaac starts, looking anguished.

“It’s okay,” Scott reassures him, because he is far too turned on to fight about this and he really, _really_ wants to make Isaac spend.

He grips Isaac’s hips to keep him from bucking up again and leans down to fit his dick in his mouth again, a harder task than he thought as Isaac’s erection has wilted a bit, distressingly enough. He hardens easily enough in Scott’s mouth and thankfully for his aching jaw it only takes a minute before he pushes Scott off him and spends all over his stomach, making a series of muffled moaning noises against the hand Allison’s slapped over his mouth.

“Fuck,” Isaac says, throwing his arm over his eyes, chest heaving.

Scott smiles at how affected he is and wipes his mouth. He sits up and tries not to wince at the press of his erection against the zipper of his trousers. He really, really wants to get off right now, but Isaac is completely wiped out and Allison is staring down at him with an unreadable expression on her face, or at least unreadable in the dark. He’s worked up enough that he’s honestly tempted to take care of it himself, but restrains himself for decorum’s sake.

Isaac groans after a second and rolls over onto his side, not bothering to put himself back in his trousers. “Mmm, you should totally fuck me,” he tells Scott, despite the fact that he looks about 30 seconds from falling asleep.

“Come on, don’t sleep there,” Scott tells him and hooks his hands under his arms to pull him up to the top of the bed. Isaac goes easily and face plants in one of the pillow, groaning softly, his hand on Scott’s waist.

“Here,” Allison says, and hands him the bottle of water on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Scott says and rinses out his mouth, wishing there was somewhere he could spit instead of having to swallow.

He hands the water bottle back to Allison when he’s done and she takes it, but she’s giving him a weird look.

“What?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow and looks down at his crotch pointedly. “Are you going to take care of that?” she asks him coolly.

“Uh, no,” Scott says, embarrassed that she’d noticed. He’d sort of hoped that maybe she would...but he can’t just ask her that. And he can’t just masturbate in front of her. That would be extremely vulgar. “I’m okay.”

“Can _I_ take care of that?” she asks him, but there’s a strained sort of undercurrent of anger in her voice that Scott doesn’t understand.

“If...if you want,” Scott says hesitantly, confused by her reaction. A lot of things seem to make Allison mad that he doesn’t understand the reason for.

Allison rolls over Isaac, who just grunts and doesn’t open his eyes, and straddles Scott, pushing back onto the bed with more force than is probably necessary.

“Why do you always ask what we want?” Allison asks him, bracing her hands on either side of his head and looking down at him severely.

“I-” Scott says, bewildered by the question, because why _wouldn’t_ he ask what they want? “I don’t know what you want.”

“Yes, you do,” Allison tells him coldly. “We’re in bed with you every night. It’s _obvious_.”

“But...it’s always better to ask,” Scott says, because it’s true, for everything, not just sex. “To...to be sure. I wouldn’t want to do anything you don’t like.”

“You already do things that I don’t like,” Allison tells him and Scott freezes in horror. “You’re too nice. You help people who don’t deserve it. You go out of your way to do things for other people and you don’t expect anything in return.”

“That’s bad?” Scott asks, still confused why she seems so angry about it. If he hasn’t done anything bad to her, then why…

“People will take advantage of you,” Allison says, narrowing her eyes at him. “They’ll hurt you. You have to protect yourself.”

She’s worried about him, Scott realizes. It’s not the first time he’s heard this. His mother and Stiles used to tell him he was too nice, that people would walk all over him if he let them. But he’s never heard it laid out so plainly before. It makes his eyes sting with tears.

“Hey,” he says gently, his voice shaking a little, reaching up to cup her face. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not-” she snaps, but then her expression loosens and she drops down to kiss him without warning.

Scott moans quietly and reaches up to tangle his hand in her long hair, wrapping his arm around his waist to pull her closer.

“I _want_ you,” Allison says in frustration, breaking the kiss to press her face into Scott’s neck. She sounds extremely unhappy about it.

“Sorry,” Scott says, shuddering a bit at the feel of her hot breath on his neck.

“Shut up,” she snaps and pulls back to divest herself of her sweater, undershirt and brasserie. She guides his hands to her breasts and leans over him again, pressing her forehead against his, eyes squeezing shut. “Just _fuck_ me.”

She’s shaking and Scott pulls her closer and kisses her gently to soothe her. She goes for his trousers after a minute and Scott muffles his groans in her shoulder as she strokes him and kisses and squeezes her breasts like Isaac had while she touches herself once he’s done.

She buries herself in his neck again after she spends with a sharp cry and kicks off her trousers under the covers. Scott strokes her back until she falls asleep, Isaac snoring softly on his other side, and thinks that even if they’re just on the edge of starvation and the Capitol is probably going to find them and kill them all any day now, he’s glad he’s here to take care of the two of them. He’s starting to get the impression that no one has before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have sworn there was some plot in this chapter. Somewhere.
> 
> Okay, so no, but it will be back next chapter, I promise! In the meantime, enjoy the awkwardness?
> 
> And please comment and let me know what you think of the story so far!


	10. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapters contains a brief scene of nonconsensual somnophilia. For further details, please read the end notes.

Scott dreams of the Arena, of being chased by the District 6 Tributes who turn into mutts and rip Isaac apart in front of him. He screams for Allison, but she’s nowhere to be found, she's gone, she's _left_ him all alone. It’s just him in the Arena, surrounded by the bodies of all the dead, Harley, Kira, the District 11 tributes, Isaac, and he can’t run, he can’t get away, he just has to stand there and _look_ at them and there’s so much blood, he’s covered with it-

“Scott, wake up,” Allison says, shaking his arm, and Scott opens his eyes and takes in the cabin bedroom, illuminated by the pale light of dawn. His heart is pounding in his chest and he blinks rapidly as he turns to look at her. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real.

“You okay?” Allison asks him, brow furrowed in concern.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. Isaac is snoring peacefully on his shoulder, so he can’t have been making too much noise.

Allison puts her hand on the side of his face, just holds it there, and Scott closes his eyes and lets his head fall back onto the pillow, trying to steady his breathing. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’s okay, it’s over, you’re out, you escaped. Even if they all know they’ll be found eventually.

“I’m sorry about…” Allison says, sounding uncomfortable. She withdraws her hand and Scott opens his eyes, turning his head on the side of his pillow to see her shift onto her side to face him. “I know I’m not…I know I’m harsh.”

“It’s okay,” Scott says automatically, even though he doesn’t know what she’s talking about, still shaken from his nightmare.

“No, it’s…” Allison says, scowling. “I just...I don’t know how to…” Her face twists in annoyance; clearly unused to expressing her emotions. Herself. “I’ve never...liked anyone before.”

“Really?” Scott says, surprised, because he must have had half a dozen crushes growing up.

“No,” Allison says uncomfortably, shoulders curling into herself a bit. “I’ve had partners before...doubtfully as many as Isaac,” she adds with a disdainful sniff. “But not...they served their purpose, that’s all.”

That makes Scott kind of uncomfortable, to be honest. He can’t imagine being so intimate with someone he didn’t even like.

“Oh,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s not like I’ve ever...done this before.”

She bites her lip, still looking unconvinced. “I didn’t mean to…” she says hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to sca-to make you uncomfortable.”

To scare him? Did she think his nightmare was because of her?

“You didn’t,” Scott says reassuringly, even though it’s kind of a lie. She does make him uncomfortable sometimes, but it’s not really bad or anything. He still wants to be with her.

Allison still looks unsure and Scott reaches for her, but can’t really move much without dislodging Isaac. She scoots closer and rests her head on his other shoulder, curling in close to his side. She puts her hand on his stomach and Scott strokes her hair, but gets his fingers stuck in it it’s so tangled and matted.

Allison snorts with laughter.

“Uh, sorry,” Scott says, embarrassed, and pulls his fingers free with difficulty, strands of her hair getting caught in his cracked nails.

“It’s fine,” she says, sounding amused, and looks up at him with large dark brown eyes. “Just go to sleep.”

Scott wraps his arm around her shoulders and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, no way, _that’s_ what’s in soda pop,” Isaac says, making a disgusted face. “You’re making that up.”

“It’s true,” Lydia says, stretching out her bare legs in the sun. Scott tries not to look at them. “My parents know the man who comes up with formulas for new flavors.”

“Well, I’m never drinking that again,” Isaac says. Scott has never had soda pop in his life-they sell it at the general store in 12, but only the merchants can afford it, and even then only for special occasions-but he has to agree with Isaac’s assessment. Antifreeze is not meant for human consumption.

“So what do your parents do?” he asks, curious now that Lydia seems willing to talk to them for more than a few minutes.

“They design handbags,” Lydia says, and several yards away fixing a hole in her net, Cora scoffs.

Lydia sits up narrows her eyes. “Got a problem?”

“Handbags?” Cora says, turning to her with a mocking look on her face. “That’s what’s considered a useful profession in 1?”

“People buy them well enough, so it must be,” Lydia says, scowling at her.

Cora mutters something inaudible over the rush of the river and continues to repair her net. It breaks nearly every time they use it to catch fish, but none of them know anything better to use than the stiff vines that grow around some trees in the forest.

“What did you say?” Lydia says, arching a red brow and getting to her feet. She doesn’t bother to put her pants back on and crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Cora.

“I said, must be nice, being the Capitol’s lapdog,” Cora sneers.

“Well, it beats starving to death,” Lydia replies matter-of-factly. “If you 4’s stopped hoarding your catches you’d be treated a lot better, you know.”

“Hoarding?!” Cora says furiously, shooting to her feet as well, her net forgotten. “You mean _feeding ourselves_?!”

“Oh, please, don’t play dumb, half your family are victors, you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life,” Lydia says, rolling her eyes.

“Half of my family is dead,” Cora snarls, looking seconds away from tackling Lydia to the riverbed. “Funny how faulty electrical wiring just _happened_ to be built into our house in Victor’s Village.”

Lydia goes still for a second and frowns. “What?” she says, sounding confused.

“Wait, you’re saying that fire was on purpose?” Isaac says, sitting up and looking at Cora expectantly.

Scott remembers hearing about the fire that killed Talia Hale, her husband, and a lot of their other relatives six years ago, but that was around the time that Stiles’s mother first started getting sick and he hadn’t been paying much attention. All he knows is that Peter Hale was the only one in the house who survived.

“There are no winners in the Games,” Cora says. Her voice is calm, but her face is still white with fury. “The Capitol owns you the second you step out of the Arena. You have to go where they tell you, fuck who they tell you, live how they tell you. And if you step out of line they kill your family as a warning to the other victors.”

“What?” Allison says across the bank where she’s letting the cold water run over her blistered feet.

“Your aunt never tell you that part?” Cora says, giving her a disgusted look. “Realized you’d probably think twice about volunteering if you knew you’d be a whore once you came out? Or maybe they don’t do that to 1’s and 2’s. But they sure as hell do to the rest of us.” She turns back to Lydia coldly. “And you, you say anything about my family again, I’ll kill you.”

“Hey, okay, let’s just calm down,” Scott says, getting to his feet nervously. “No one’s killing anyone.”

“Oh, shut up!” Cora says angrily, turning to him with surprising alacrity. “You should know better than anyone what I’m talking about. You’re from 12 _and_ you’ve been Reaped twice!”

Scott freezes and feels his heart leap into his throat. How could she-he didn’t think anyone would-

“What?” Isaac says, looking up at him. “What’s she talking about?”

“I-” Scott says, feeling his face heat up under the scrutiny of Allison and Lydia as well. How did Cora know that? No one-not even the Capitol commentators had seemed to remember that he had been Reaped three years ago.

“Wait…” Allison says, getting to her feet, ankle-deep in the river. “That kid who volunteered from 12 three years ago...that was for you?”

Her reference to Stiles causes a wave of grief to roll through him, so strong his knees feel weak for a moment, like they might buckle.

“Scott?” Isaac says in a small voice, looking worried.

“I...uh...I have to check the snares,” Scott says numbly, and stumbles up the river bank and into the woods, ignoring Isaac’s calls for him to come back.

You need to get a hold of yourself, Scott realizes distantly as he retreats further into the forest. Stiles has been dead for three years. He thinks about him everyday, he should be used to the horrible emptiness in his gut. But it was so sudden...one second Cora looked like she was going to start a fight and then she’d just...brought it up. No one in 12 ever talked about Stiles in front of him, not even his mother after he kept breaking down and having asthma attacks that lasted hours every time she tried. He hasn’t ever had to explain what happened to anyone. Everyone around him always knew.

It’s not like he doesn’t want them to know, Scott thinks and sits down at the base of a large tree, next to where he’d found some mushrooms a couple days ago. Isaac and Allison at least. It’s just he can’t think of any way to tell them without ending up in tears.

He takes a deep breath, hands shaking as he clutches under his knees, resting his forehead on them. Three years ago, my friend, my best, only friend, my _brother_ volunteered for me at the Reaping and he...he…

Scott sobs, the sound very loud over the sounds of the birds in the trees around him, the wind rustling the branches. He bites his lip before he can start crying in earnest and squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking violently as he struggles to maintain his composure. He digs his nails into the fabric of his trousers above his inner knees and and breathes in and out rapidly, before reaching up to grip his greasy hair in his fists, so hard it hurts.

This is _nothing_ , he tells himself, a mantra he’s repeated to himself over the years. This is nothing compared to what Stiles went through. Don’t be weak. This is not about you. This is about Stiles. And he’s gone now, where no one can ever hurt him again.

Dead. Gone forever. His bones likely all that’s left of him in between his mother and father in the District 12 cemeta-

Don’t think about that, Scott thinks, starting to panic as grief strangles him, sinking its way into his lungs and stomach. Don’t think, just focus.

Three years ago I was Reaped, Scott starts again, mouthing the words to himself, rocking himself back and forth with nervous energy. My best friend volunteered in my place, because he knew I had no chance becau- no don’t say that, just keep it simple. He volunteered because he was my friend and he…

He goes back to the river after a hour or so, when he’s calmed down enough that it doesn’t feel like he’s being crushed by the weight of his grief. He goes a bit south to avoid the others, but he needn’t have worried; the river bank closest to the cabin is completely empty. He washes his face off, and unsteadily seats himself on a rounded rock next to the river. Now that his panic has faded he feels very tired and closes his eyes and tilts his head back, soaking up the afternoon sun.

They don’t even try to hide their approach, the soles of their boots crunching against the rock riverbed. Scott opens his eyes and looks across the river at the other bank longingly. It seems strange that it’s so close, but it’s impossible to get to. Shouldn’t he be used to that feeling by now?

“Scott?” Isaac says hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Scott smiles faintly and turns to look at them. Better to get this over with. He can’t quite keep the smile on his face when he sees how serious their faces are. They look like mourners at a funeral.

“He was my friend,” Scott says, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. “I-he, he didn’t think, he just. He didn’t realize what he was doing until...but then it was already t-too late.”

His voice cracks at the end and he clenches his jaw shut and closes his eyes, breathing as quietly as he can through his nose, willing himself to remain calm.

There’s movement, rocks crunching closer to him and then Allison sits down next to him, leaning against his shoulder and putting her arm around his waist. “What was his name?” she asks.

“St-Stiles,” Scott says with a sob and tries not to break down completely, ducking his head down so they can’t see his face contort.

“Shh,” she says soothingly, pulling him in so that his face is pressed against her shoulder.

“It’s my fault he’s dead,” Scott can’t help whisper, squeezing his eyes shut.

He knows he didn’t do anything wrong, that there was nothing he could have done to prevent Stiles’s death, but he’s still responsible. If not for him, Stiles would still be alive.

“He was my best frien- my _brother_ , and I couldn’t stop him, he just…” Scott’s mouth continues, without his brain’s permission, hot tears dripping down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking. Images of Stiles’s white face as he’d said goodbye to him in the Justice Building, the way he looked in his interview, freezing to death in the Games, flash through his head in an all too familiar loop, tormenting him with the memories of the last horrible week of his best friend’s life. Isaac sits down on his other side and carefully puts a hand on his shoulder, covering Scott’s hand, gripping the side of the rock he’s sitting on, with his own. “It’s my _fault_.”

“No, it’s not,” Isaac says quietly, squeezing his hand. “Of course he’d volunteer for you. It makes sense.”

“Wh-What?” Scott says, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes in confusion. What did he mean?

“I mean, a volunteer, from 12?” Isaac says gently, looking at him with hesitant compassion. “Of course it’d be for you.”

The bottom of Scott’s stomach drops out and he feels every last bit of color leave his face. He feels like he might be sick, might scream, might smash his fists against the rocky riverbed, because no, please, _no_.

He can’t breathe.

“Scott!” Allison says sharply as he gasps for air, hunching over. “Scott, okay, just relax, alright?”

He can’t. It’s a bad one, he can already tell. It feels like he can’t get even the tiniest bit of air into his lungs and his vision blurs as he struggles to breathe.

“No...please, don’t... _say_ that,” he gasps, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t, please...please don’t say that, just... _no_ …”

Why would Isaac say that, even think that? Like Scott was somehow better than all of the other poor children that had been Reaped over the years. Like it’s okay that Stiles died instead of him. It isn’t true, that’s not how it is at all. Scott’s life was never worth Stiles’s, not when Stiles had his whole life ahead of him. He could’ve grown up and got married, had a family. Stiles was smart, he could have been a foreman in the mines like his dad, not like Scott, who will never be anything but a burden to the people around him. Who never would have married, but would have probably spent his life trying to heal the injured and sick of District 12 with his mother, futilely, as what good is medicine without food? He would have never even been able to take care of his mother when she got old and they both would have starved. What was the point of that? Why should he live instead of Stiles, when all he’d ever do was leech off others to continue an increasingly miserable existence?

His chest feels like it might explode, the pressure is so intense. His fingernails are turning blue, always a major warning sign, and Scott struggles to sit upright like his mother always told him to and wheezes as he tries to take long deep breaths.

“Scott?” Isaac says shrilly, clutching his shoulder. “Scott, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Scott would reassure him that it’s not his fault, but he’s afraid he might pass out if he tries to speak, and just focuses on getting as much air into his lungs as possible. Allison and Isaac try to soothe him as best as they can, but he struggles to breathe for almost half an hour before the attack finally subsides, slumping backward into their arms in both physical and emotional exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispers for what must be the hundredth time as Scott closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his blissfully unrestricted airway. He sounds on the verge of tears, and Scott tilts his head towards him and lets it fall against his shoulder.

“S’okay,” he murmurs, feeling like he might want to fall asleep right here.  

He does, almost, barely conscious as he’s lifted to his feet and pulled up the river bank. He is vaguely aware of stumbling over the threshold of the cabin door, but the next thing he’s aware of is waking up in bed with Isaac curled around him like a second skin.

“Hey,” Isaac says, his face illuminated by the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Scott says and smiles at him gently. It doesn’t do anything to reassure Isaac, who looks very worried. “Where’s Allison?”

“Getting food,” Isaac says, adjusting the maroon blanket around him further and rubbing his back as if to warm him up. “She’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Scott whispers.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Isaac asks worriedly, looking at Scott’s face searchingly. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You didn’t know,” Scott says numbly, looking down at the collar of Isaac’s undershirt instead of his face. “I just...I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it without…”

Losing control of his tear ducts and turning into a useless wreck.

“Okay,” Isaac says softly, stroking the side of his face gently. Scott has to close his eyes and bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from crying at that.

Don’t care about me so much, he thinks desperately. It _hurts_.

Isaac kisses his cheek and nuzzles his nose with his gently, while Scott tries very hard not to feel anything. They stay like that for a couple minutes and then the bedroom door opens.

Scott opens his eyes to see Allison close it behind her, holding a small bowl full of juniper berries, some pennycress, and a cooked squirrel leg. She walks around the bed and sits down next to Scott.

“Eat,” she says, thrusting the food at him. “You missed lunch.”

Scott has absolutely no appetite, but he knows better than to refuse food offered to him from Allison, especially with that determined look on her face.

The juniper berries are painfully bitter and he washes them down his pennycress and water from Isaac’s bottle. The squirrel meat is overcooked and he has difficulty chewing it into small enough pieces to be swallowed. His jaw hurts and he’s tired, but he has a weird feeling that if he claimed it was too tough that Allison would chew it up herself and try to feed him like a baby bird. Thinking about it is less humiliating than it probably should be. It might be nice even, to be cared for like that. But probably a lot grosser in reality. Scott finishes his squirrel leg without complaint.

The sun’s setting by the time he finishes and neither Isaac nor Allison try to convince him to get up and do anything before it gets dark. Scott closes his eyes to sleep some more and they let him, pressed on either side of him like they’re guarding him, as if from some outside enemy instead of his own grief.

 

* * *

 

Scott wakes to hot pleasure coursing through him, his dick enveloped in warm wetness that make him moan and thrust into it further. Hands grip his hips and the heat around his dick contracts, like a squeeze, and Scott’s eyes snap open as he realizes what is happening.

“Isaac!” he says wildly, scrambling to get away from him. “What are you doing?!”

The mouth pulls off him and Isaac pops his head out from under the covers, his mouth wet and swollen. “Sucking you off,” he says, like it should be obvious.

“I was...I was _asleep_!” Scott says, heart pounding in his chest, staring down at him in horror. Next to him Allison groans and rolls over onto her side, eyes fluttering open.

“What’s going on?” she mumbles, peering at them in the dim pre-dawn light.

Scott flushes and grabs one of the pillows to cover himself.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Isaac tells her with a scowl, and then sits up, wiping his mouth and looking at Scott in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you- I was _asleep_ ,” Scott repeats, wondering why Isaac would think that was okay, to just... _do that_.

“Yeah, best way to wake-up,” Isaac says, still not seeming to understand why Scott’s so freaked out. “I mean, you were hard, so I thought…”

“Don’t-” Scott chokes, trying not to freak out. “Just don’t _do_ that, okay? Next time just, wake me up and ask. I don’t…”

“I-sorry,” Isaac says, eyes widening and starting to look freaked out as well. “Usually guys like that, so I thought...I mean, I didn’t...I thought you’d like-I’m sorry.”

His face falls and his shoulders droop, getting the kicked puppy look again.

Scott leans back against the headboard and takes a deep breath. Right, everything’s fine. Calm down.

Allison’s foot shoots out suddenly and kicks Isaac in the side.

“Ow! What the hell?” he says incredulously. “That hurt!”

“That’s what you get,” Allison says tersely, glaring at him. “Would you want someone doing that to you while you’re asleep?”

“Uh, _yes_ ,” Isaac says, looking beseechingly at Scott. “I thought...I mean, it’s nice, I thought you’d...I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s okay,” Scott reassures him, sliding down the headboard a little so he can grab the covers and pull them up to his waist. “I just...I’m not used to...you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says miserably, looking anguished. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“If you do I’ll gut you like a pig,” Allison says flatly, watching Isaac with suspicious eyes.

“Allison!” Scott says, shocked at this threat. He’d thought they were getting along better. “Don’t say that!”

“I won’t!” Isaac squeaks, looking seconds away from tears.

Allison scoffs unapologetically and pulls Scott down next to her possessively, still looking at Isaac with suspicion.

“I’ll, um, just…” Isaac says and flees the room before Scott can stop him.

“Allison,” Scott says, giving her a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t have kicked him.”

“People like him can’t be trusted,” Allison says coldly, tightening her grip on Scott’s waist. “I told you if you’re too nice people will take advantage of you.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Scott says, wondering why _he’s_ the one explaining Isaac’s actions to her instead of the other way around. “I mean, it sounded like that’s...normal, I guess. He’d thought I’d...like it?”

“District 7,” Allison says disdainfully. “Bunch of lumberjack freaks, if you ask me.”

She sighs at Scott’s disappointed look and rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ll be nice.”

She doesn’t say anything nasty to Isaac after that, which is probably for the best considering how miserable Isaac is the rest of the day. Scott ends up feeling kind of bad for him, because it’s clear that Isaac is afraid he won’t want to be with him anymore, even though Scott hadn’t done anything wrong. He’s never been intimate with anyone before, how was he supposed to react waking up like that without any warning?

Still, Isaac’s despondent behavior is worrying and Scott’s is shocked when he gets him alone to talk about it and Isaac tearfully begs for forgiveness.

“You can hit me if you want,” Isaac says miserably, sitting on the other end of the couch in the main room while the Lydia and Cora are down at the river trying to catch some fish and Allison is out hunting.

“What?” Scott says, confused, and scoots over to sit next to him, reaching for one of his hands. “I don’t want to hit you. Isaac, it’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to do anything bad.”

Isaac doesn’t look assuaged and Scott wraps his arms around him, surprised at the violent tremor that runs through him at the contact.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, bewildered at how seriously Isaac is taking this. He wasn’t even that mad this morning, why is Isaac acting like he thinks Scott hates him?

“I’m sorry,” Isaac repeats for the dozenth time since they started this conversation, hiding his face in Scott’s neck. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shh, I know,” Scott shushes him, taking a page out of Allison’s book and rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s okay, Isaac.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything, just clutches at him, which worries Scott even more.

Unfortunately, before Scott can coax him out of his neck, the front door bangs open and Cora walks through, carrying a bucket of river water.

“Ugh, do you have to do that in here?” she says when she sees them, making a disgusted face. “Don’t you have a room to fuck in?”

“Could you give us some space?” Scott asks her pointedly, annoyed at her interruption. Cora rolls her eyes, but leaves the bucket on the kitchen counter, muttering about gross exhibitionists.

“C’mon,” Scott says gently when she’s gone. “Let’s go to our room, okay?”

He leads Isaac to the bedroom where he kisses him desperately, and gasps Scott’s name as he kisses his neck and slides his hands up his scarred sides. Scott takes his time with him, aware that Isaac doesn’t seem to believe him when he says he isn’t mad, that he has to show him he still wants him. Isaac is far more desperate than he usually is, but he seems to calm down after he gets his clothes off and just arches under Scott’s body, moaning his name and looking up at him hopelessly adoring.

Scott strokes his back after they’re done, wondering if the reason for Isaac’s scars is the same as the reason for his abject terror earlier. It never occurred to him to be grateful that his own father had left him alone after he started drinking.

“You should really fuck me,” Isaac says tiredly, drawing absent-minded patterns on Scott’s chest  next to where his cheek is resting on Scott’s right pectoral muscle.

“It’s really good?” Scott asks skeptically.

“Yeah, it’s really tight and hot, not like a girl-not that you’d know because Allison’s a prude, so even more reason. You should stick it in something before we all kick it,” he says, smiling up at Scott lazily.

His extremely crude descriptions of sex shouldn’t do it for Scott, but they kind of do, Scott realizes, flushing. “Uh, no, I meant, like, for you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Isaac says, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Scott would be at all interested in that. “I mean, some guys are assholes about it, but you wouldn’t be,” he finishes with clear conviction that makes Scott’s stomach flip.

“Okay, maybe later,” Scott says, still needing time to wrap his head around it.

“Okay,” Isaac says, happily, and rubs his cheek against Scott’s chest like an affectionate cat.

Allison comes back after an hour or so and sticks her head in the bedroom to see them still curled up in bed together. She looks over Isaac skeptically.

“Are you going to stop being weird now?” she asks.

“Yes,” Isaac mutters, not raising his head from Scott’s chest.

“Good,” Allison says approvingly. “Now get dressed, we got fish and two rabbits that need to be cooked.”

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Isaac says sitting up and stretching.

Scott smiles at the evidence of his better mood and reaches for their clothes. It’s a relief to have everything work out. Conflict makes him nervous.

“C’mon,” he says happily, extending his hand to Isaac after he’s finished lacing up his boots. Isaac takes it, but pulls him down to kiss him instead of standing up.

“Okay, really, we have to go help,” Scott laughs, pulling away after a second, and leads him into the main room where Cora gives them disgusted looks and complains about their gross couply behavior.

 

* * *

 

“...so then the mayor had to apologize to my mother _and_ sponsor our gala for the next two years,” Lydia finishes with a satisfied smirk, taking a bite of rabbit meat off the bone. “Moral of the story: do _not_ mess with the PTA.”

“I didn’t realize things in 1 were so...unorthodox,” Allison says, curled under the wool blanket at Scott’s side on the musty couch.

Unorthodox is one way of putting it. District 1 seems to have an intensely complicated power structure, in which several parties other than the Capitol-individual business people, local organizations, government committees- vie for influence over the day-to-day operations of the District. Scott is shocked at how much leeway the citizens of District 1 are given- worlds away from District 12. He can’t imagine growing up in that world.

“So if you’re all so rich then why volunteer for the Games?” Isaac says from where he’s warming his hands in front of the fireplace, looking less than impressed at Lydia’s story.

The life slides from Lydia’s eyes and her face goes blank.

“Isaac, don’t,” Scott says, concerned at the sudden change in her demeanor.

Isaac look irritated and turns back to the fire. “Fine,” he mutters.

“No, it’s a valid question,” Cora says sharply, putting down her glass of filtered river water on the small  table next to the couch with a clack. “Why did you volunteer?”

Lydia says nothing, lips pressed together tightly.

“And with your _boyfriend_ , no less,” Cora continues cruelly. “How did you think that was going to end?”

Jackson was her- Scott thinks, shocked. Why would...no wonder she-

“Shut up,” Lydia snaps and jumps to her feet, walking past Scott and Allison to the bedroom she and Cora have been sharing.

“Idiot,” Cora says scornfully and flops down on the other side of the couch, as far from Scott as possible.

Lydia flies back into the room before Scott can reprimand Cora, face flushed with rage and hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Yeah, I’m an idiot,” she says, voice uneven with rage. “But let’s talk about you. Danny dies, Aiden leaves, Matt dies, Allison disappears, Jackson…” Her furious expression wavers for a second, voice faltering for a moment. “Jackson dies, and it’s just the two of us. You could have killed me a dozen times over and you _didn’t_. You pretend you’re this perfect emotionless killer, but I _saw_ you at the Cornucopia. _I_ got us out. I did what I ha-”

“Got us out for _what_?” Cora spits, leaping to her feet and gesturing wildly at the cabin. “To starve to death in the middle of nowhere? To be tortured and executed by the Capitol?”

“Did I say I was finished?” Lydia shoots back with an imperious flick of her chin that makes her seem a foot taller than she really is. “I may have been a gullible idiot, Cora, but at least I’m not a liar.”

“A liar?” Cora splutters, looking bewildered by this accusation. “What are you talking about?”

“Whatever this is,” Lydia says, waving a hand at her carelessly. “It’s pointless and we’re all sick of it. This isn’t the Games anymore. You can cut out the act, because it’s not doing you any good, and sooner or later Allison is going to bash your head in for insulting 12 again and none of us know how to fix your nets. So _grow up_ and accept that we’re in this together or-”

The cabin door crashes open.

Men dressed all in black burst inside and Allison scrambles off the couch and falls to the floor with a surprised yelp. Cora whirls around and barrels towards the first one, striking him in the throat. A pair of hands grab Scott off the couch and pull him back while Allison lunges for the bow and quiver on the kitchen counter. Isaac shoves him behind him, wielding the iron fireplace poker, and Allison shoots an arrow into the chest of the man raising his gun in Cora’s direction with a twang.

“Alright, enough!” one of the men yells, holding up his hands defensively.

The man who was shot pulls the arrow out with a grimace- it doesn’t appear to have pierced the black vest he’s wearing.

“One move and I’ll be aiming for your head,” Allison snarls, turning her next arrow on him.

“Okay, okay, look,” the man says. He’s young and blond, with wide earnest eyes. The others-five, maybe six of them- are all older, but look to him deferentially. He must be the leader.

“I said don’t move!” Allison shouts. She’s on one knee on the floor, in what must be an uncomfortable position, but she doesn’t dare get to her feet, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Her arrow is aimed right at the leader’s head, but three others have their machine guns trained on her. Cora has been shoved back onto the armchair, Lydia is still frozen in front of the door next to her and Cora’s room, and Isaac is keeping Scott behind him with one arm wrapped around his back to keep him in place. The fireplace poker certainly looks dangerous, but it’s no match for the Capitol’s guns. This fight is already over.

“Isaac,” Scott whispers, putting his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to see him shot and Scott’s knows any wrong move will end with several bullets in his chest.

“We’re not the Capitol,” the leader says. “We’re District 13.”

“What?” Lydia says, voice high and uneven.

“We’re from District 13,” the leader repeats, keeping his hands up and away from his gun which is hanging from a strap around his shoulder. “We were sent to rescue the escaped Tributes and bring them back to our District.”

“District 13’s gone,” Isaac bites out, hand shaking on the small of Scott’s back. “What is this, a joke?”

“It’s no joke,” the leader turns to him. “The surface was destroyed during the first rebellion, but we moved underground.”

“Stop talking,” Allison barks, her skinny forearm shaking a bit in her effort to keep her bow drawn.

“If you’re really here to _rescue_ us, then put down your weapons,” Cora says, slowly inching across the armchair to get into a seated position.

The leader looks from Allison to Isaac quickly. “How about we all put our weapons down?”

“Not a chance,” Allison snarls.

Before anyone can say anything else, something crackles on the leader’s wrist.

“Soldier Parrish,” a female voice says from the device attached to his wrist. “Report.”

His arm moves to his mouth automatically, but Allison says, “Ah, ah, ah,” arms shaking dangerously, and he freezes.

“Soldier Parrish,” the voice repeats. “Report. Have you secured the Tributes?”

“District 13, my ass,” Isaac snarls, pushing Scott further behind him. “You think you can trick us into coming with you? Well, think again, because we’re not going without a fight!”

“We’re not the Capitol,” the leader repeats firmly. He doesn’t seem all that worried about the arrow pointed at his head. Scott realizes what they must look like to him; five starving kids who’ve been hiding in the middle of woods for...how long has it been? A couple weeks?

“Why would District 13 come and rescue us?” Scott asks, feeling Isaac jerk in surprise in front of him. They’re so far north. 13 was right next to 12, why would they have gone so far out of their way to get them?

“A second rebellion has begun,” Parrish says, and turns toward Lydia. “Ms. Martin, when you blew up the Arena on live television...The entirety of Panem saw that. Districts 3,4, and 8 immediately rebelled, and 5, 6, and 11 followed within days. We are working with the rebels to bring down the Capitol once and for all.”

“What?” Lydia says, looking completely confused. “What are you-?” She looks at Cora in alarm, and then to Allison. “Are you serious?”

“He’s lying!” Allison snarls, sweat dripping down her temple.

Scott doesn’t know what to think. It’s seems like a fantastic story, but why would they make this up? What purpose could they have to lie to them about a fake rebellion? They have them cornered, could do anything they wanted to them.

“It’s true,” a tall woman with short hair says shortly, keeping her gun aimed on Allison. “We are now in a full scale conflict with Capitol forces.”

Allison’s leg starts to shake weakly, struggling to keep herself balanced.

“Allison,” Scott says softly, not really sure what to say, but worried she might accidentally let go of the bowstring and shoot Parrish.

There’s movement from the front door and Scott’s heart leaps into his chest as a familiar figure in black body armor steps into the room.

“Scott?” Deaton says, voice shaking slightly as he stares at Scott with damp eyes. He tries to step forward, but is intercepted by a black-clad soldier tries to push him back. “No, wait, stop, I told you this wasn’t going to work!”

“Mr. Deaton?” Scott gapes at him, feeling as if he might fall over. “How...what-”

Scott, don’t-” Isaac hisses as Scott pushes past him.

“Scott, it’s okay,” Deaton says, wiping his eyes quickly and regaining his composure. “ These people are here to help you.”

“They’re from 13…?” Scott says, looking around at the soldiers dubiously.

“They’re from 13,” Deaton confirms, and then looks questioningly towards Parrish. Parrish nods and the soldier stopping Deaton steps back.

“Scott, don’t,” Allison chokes as Scott tries to cross the room to go to him.

“It’s okay,” he says, stopping by her side and crouching down next to her. “We can trust him.”

“Yeah, why?” Cora asks, eyeing the soldiers warily from her defensive position curled into the armchair. “We’re just supposed to take your word for it?”

Scott ignores her and reaches out carefully to push down Allison’s arm on the bow. She gasps softly as she drops the arrow and releases the bowstring. The arrow clatters to the floor and she sits all the way down on the floor, sweat dripping down her face.

“We’ve come to take you back to 13,” Deaton says, looking around at all of them. “You’ll all be safe there.”

“Why do you care?” Lydia asks suspiciously.

Scott pushes Allison’s hair out of her eyes, and lifts her up by her sides. “C’mon.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Cora exclaims, scrambling to get to her feet now that it doesn’t appear the soldiers are going to shoot her anytime soon. “You can’t just go with them!”

“I trust him,” Scott tells her, pulling Allison close comfortingly. “They’re telling the truth.”

District 13. Rebellion. It doesn’t seem possible, but it looks like it is. They blew a hole in the Hunger Games and escaped after all, and no one’s done that before.

“Look, we need to go,” Parrish tells Deaton lowly. “If they don’t come now we’re going to have to trank them.”

“What did you say?” Cora snaps, while Allison stiffens in Scott’s arms. Scott doesn’t know what “trank” means, but it can’t be good.

“We have a hovercraft waiting, but we can’t stay here for long,” Deaton says, looking between the soldiers nervously.

A hovercraft. They’re leaving. They’re really leaving.

“Right,” Scott says, finding himself suddenly close to tears. He turns to look back at Isaac. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“What?” Isaac says, looking uncertain. “Are you...are you sure?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Scott says, his throat very tight as he tries to keep his voice from trembling. He can’t believe this is happening, he thought they were going to die here, but now they actually might live. Is this really happening?

“Wait, just, can we think about this!?” Cora says as Scott continues towards the door.

“Right, let’s go,” Parrish says, jerking his head towards outside.

Deaton puts his hand on his shoulder when he gets close enough, squeezing gently, and Scott gives him a watery smile.  

Allison and Isaac follow him out of the cabin and into the night. Scott waits outside nervously as the soldiers follow them, and finally Lydia and Cora, looking irritated and uncertain.

“Alright, we’re outside,” Parrish says into his communicator device. “We are ready for pick-up.”

Seconds later there’s a whooshing sound from the north and Scott looks up to see bright lights cresting over the top of the trees. The hovercraft come to float over the tops of the trees and the hatch at the bottom opens and a ladder is thrown down.

“You have got to be kidding,” Cora mutters, wrapping her arms around herself against the wind coming from the hovercraft’s engines.

Parrish turns to look at Scott. “You first,” he says mildly.

Scott looks around at everyone else, noting the apprehensive looks on all their faces. Right, he think, clenching his jaw determinedly.

He walks up to the ladder and grabs on to the rung closest to his eye level and steps onto the lowest rung. He gasps a little as the ladder jerks upwards and he’s pulled up into the hovercraft. When he gets to the top two soldiers pull him inside and Scott looks around at interior nervously. It looks much more industrial than the hovercraft he took to the Games and has no windows. Military.

A soldier in white heads towards Scott while he tries to look down through the hatch to see everyone else, and pulls him further back.

“What?” Scott says, jerking in shock as the soldier cups his face and examines him closely. “What are you doing?”

“Are you injured anywhere?” the soldier asks flatly, looking him up and down carefully.

“No,” Scott says, trying to look past him. “Look, I want to see my friends-”

“They’ll be up in a moment,” the soldier says brusquely. “Come over here and sit down, I need to get an IV in you.”

“What, hey!” Scott protests, but the soldier grabs him by the arm and pulls him over to the seats all along the wall, pushing him down and strapping him in. “What is that, what are you doing?” he asks as the soldier pulls a clear bag and some tubing out of a compartment above Scott’s head and pushes up the sleeve of his left wrist. He frowns at the scar from the tracker, and rubs over his arm with a wet pad of something that burns slightly on his skin.

“You’re dehydrated,” the soldier explains, taping something his arm, and Scott only sees the needle when it’s too late.

“Hey, ow, what the hell,” he says, panic starting to rise his chest. He reaches out with his right hand to pull it off, but the soldier grabs his wrist.

“What are you doing, stop that,” he says, sounding annoyed. “This the standard treatment for dehydration.”

Scott opens his mouth to demand what exactly is in that clear bag hanging on a hook neck to his head, but then he sees Allison being pulled up onto the hovercraft floor. She shakes the hands of the soldiers off her, looks around the hovercraft quickly, and then rushes towards him when her eyes swivel in his direction.

“What is that?” she demands, hands clenched at her sides, glaring at the white soldier fiercely.

“Dehydration treatment,” the soldier replies, getting another bag and tubing out of the compartment. “Are you injured anywhere?”

“No,” Allison says sharply.

“Good, sit down,” the soldier says, pointing to the seat next to Scott.

Allison hesitates, eyes darting around the hovercraft nervously.

“It’s okay,” Scott tells her, even though he doesn’t really know. His arm kind of hurts, but he doesn’t _feel_ like he’s being poisoned. And the soldier seemed confused by his protests.

She sits down next to him and glares at the soldier the entire time as he puts the needle in her arm as well. Lydia is next and she absolutely refuses to let the soldier put the needle in her arm until he tells her the exact contents of the clear bag. Scott doesn’t understand the answer, but it seems to mollify her and she sits down next to Allison while Isaac gets the seat next to Scott, looking down at the needle in his arm worriedly.

Scott’s mind is racing by the time everyone’s inside, so full of questions he feels he might burst at the seams.

“Mr. Deaton,” he says as Deaton walks to the other side of the hovercraft to sit with the soldiers. “What’s going on in 12? Are they rebelling too?”

“We took 12 two weeks ago,” Deaton tells him, speaking loudly over the sound of the hatch closing. “But we got your mother and father out before then. They’re in 13, too. You’ll be able-”

“Soldier Deaton, strap in,” Parrish orders from his seat all the way at the front.

Deaton gives Scott a reassuring smile, and Scott takes several deep breaths as the hovercraft begins to move.

His mother’s alive, she’s _alive_. He’d tried not to think about it, but ever since Cora said that the Capitol might go after their parents he’d been terrified that something had happened to her and he’d never even know. But now they were escaping, going to 13, and he’d get to see her again…

Scott’s eyes burn with tears and he squeezes them shut, trying not to weep.

“Scott?” Isaac says hesitantly, reaching out to hold his left hand.  

“‘M okay,” Scott gasps, gripping his hand back and wanting nothing more than to take shelter in him.

“Okay,” Isaac says carefully over the soft hum of the hovercraft’s engines. “Hey, how long is this going to take?”

Hours, it turns out. Scott is too exhausted to talk much, even if they could do it privately. He can’t really sleep, so he just stares up at the ceiling of the hovercraft and holds Isaac’s hand. Isaac falls asleep at one point, head lolling against the side of the head rest, and Scott really wishes he could hold him. Allison, on the other hand, remains awake the entire time, spine ramrod straight as if ready for attack at any moment.

Finally the intercom announces their descent and Scott’s leg jiggles antsily as he waits for them to land.

“Alright, you’ll be taken directly to hospital,” Parrish says as the white soldier removes the needles from their arms carefully.

The side door of the hovercraft opens before Scott can ask about his mother and he follows Deaton apprehensively out the door. He gasps a little at the huge room they’ve landed in, full of other hovercrafts and planes, crates stacked high, high-tech equipment, and dozens of people in gray clothing bustling about between them. He nearly trips on the stairs on his way down trying to take it all it, and Isaac grabs him behind to prevent him from falling.

“They weren’t kidding,” Isaac says with a disbelieving laugh as they dismount and gape around at the giant room. A couple people in gray clothes attaching tubes to the hovercraft stop what they’re doing and stare at them.

“This is 13…” Allison says slowly, coming to stand on Scott’s other side. He turns to smile at her, but she just looks at him with wide eyes. “They’ve been here all this time?”

There’s the sound of wheels approaching them and Scott looks back front to see people in white wheeling five stretchers across the floor.

“Oh, great,” Cora says, sounding strained. “More needles.”

But Scott isn’t listening, because there’s a figure in gray running behind them that he recognizes even from all the way across the room.

“SCOTT!” his mother screams, dodging around the stretchers. “Scott!”

“Oh, Mom,” Scott chokes, overcome with emotion and barrels into her arms.

“Oh, Scott, oh, Scott, oh, Scott,” she sobs, clutching his shoulders, the back of his head. “Oh, my baby, my baby.”

“Mom, I thought-I thought-” he cries into her shoulder, and then sinks down to the tile floor.

“Scott, I love you, I love you so much,” his mother says, drawing back to cup his face and press a kiss to his chin. Her entire face is wet with tears and after a second of looking into his face, her expression crumbles and she sobs into his shoulder.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Scott whispers, pulling her into his arms and pressing his nose into her hair. “Oh, _Mom_ , I thought I’d never see you again…”

“Scott,” a voice says hoarsely from next to him and Scott looks up to see his father standing beside him, face as pale as a sheet. He reaches out to put his hand on Scott’s shoulder awkwardly, tears filling his eyes and Scott lets out a watery laugh.

He’s alive. His mother is alive, they’re safe in the hidden District 13. He’s going to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac performs oral sex on Scott while he is sleeping, with the intention of waking him up. He does not understand why Scott is upset by this, implying that he himself has enjoyed being on the receiving end in the past. Once he realizes that Scott (and Allison) are disturbed by this, he apologizes profusely, promises to never do it again, and becomes terrified that Scott hates him, inadvertently making it all about him. Scott ends up feeling bad for him and reassures him that he doesn't hate him, neither of them realizing that this is in any way problematic. 
> 
> __
> 
> District 13! Finally, because I was getting sick of them just hanging out in the woods. Now there will be tons of other characters to write about and, you know, actual plot. Please comment!


	11. The Bunker

Scott wakes to the sound of arguing. He opens his eyes, blinking away the blurriness. There’s a white ceiling above him and he frowns up at it, trying to remember what happened before this. He was on the hovercraft, then he saw his mother, then they put him on a stretcher and wheeled him into an elevator…

Then he panicked because only two stretchers would fit in the elevator and he didn’t want to be separated from Allison and Isaac, and a medic jabbed him in the upper arm with something.

He sits up, head aching painfully and looks over to see a medic standing over Allison, who’s dressed in a plain white frock and is curled into one of the two chairs against the white tile wall, her feet up and long hair hanging over her knees.

“...s. Argent, come back to your bed immediately, or I will be forced to sedate you, I won’t tell you again.”

“Come near me with that needle and I’ll claw your eyes out!” Allison replies sharply.

“Hey,” Scott says hoarsely, “what’s going on?”

They both turn to look at him, but Scott only has eyes for Allison.

“Mr. McCall,” the medic says professionally, taking the thin square of metal out from under his arm. “It’s good to see you awake. I was just explaining to Miss Argent here that she needs t-”

Allison gets up from the chair and walks over to the side of Scott’s bed, dragging a metal pole with a bag of clear liquid and tubing attached to it that leads into her forearm along with her. She sits down next to him on the bed and looks into his face searchingly.

“Hey,” Scott whispers, reaching out to hold her hand. “What’s going on?”

“They don’t want me to see you,” she says, turning around to glare at the medic.

“What, why?” Scott says, fear spiking in his chest. He holds onto Allison’s hand tighter and looks around at his surroundings apprehensively. He spots another bed to his right, with an open white curtain separating the two. The bed is empty. He turns to the medic beseechingly. “Can’t she stay in that one?”

“Ms. Argent has already been assigned to a different room,” the medic says, unswayed by his plea and looking annoyed. “And she needs to go back there. Both of you need rest.”

“They put me with Isaac,” Allison tells him, putting her arms around his waist and pressing her head down against his shoulder, like she’s afraid of being ripped away from him. “He’s fine. Still sleeping when I left.”

“Why did you drug me?” Scott asks accusingly, wrapping his arms around Allison protectively. “Did they...did they drug you too?”

“Yes,” Allison says coldly.

“We had to sedate you for your own safety,” the medic explains. The left side of his face is slightly pock-marked and he’s even paler than Allison, brown hair cut short. He shows very little empathy for their situation. “Now do you want me to call the guards?”

“Just you try it!” Allison snarls, but Scott pulls her close before she can do something stupid like lunge out of bed at the medic.

“Look, can’t she just stay here awhile?” he asks, as Allison tightens her arms around him and hides her face in his neck, shaking slightly. “Or maybe I could come to her room with her so I can see Isaac-our other friend? Please,” he continues as the medic opens his mouth in what he knows must be rejection. “It’s just...I have to see him, we’ve...we’ve spent so much time together that I just feel really nervous not being able to see him.”

The medic frowns slightly. “Would you describe yourself as being “anxious without reasonable explanation?”” he asks, glancing down at the metal square and pressing it in a couple places with his pointer finger.

“I-I guess,” Scott says hesitantly.

“I can get you medication for that,” the medic says, continuing to press at the square. “But room assignments can only be changed by the Head Doctor.”

“No, I don’t need medication,” Scott protests, wincing slightly as his head pounds. “I just need to see my friend, okay? I promise I won’t get in your way or cause any problems.”

“You’re already causing me problems,” the medic scowls, and Scott can see he’s beginning to lose his patience.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Scotts says sincerely. “I just wouldn’t want you to waste medication on me. Or any more of your time. Why don’t I take her back to her room?”

The medic looks uncertain. “You’re really not supposed to be out of bed yet…”

“I feel fine,” Scott assures him, even though his head hurts and he’s somehow simultaneously nauseous and starving. “I can take her back. I mean, I don’t think she’ll go with you, and then you’ll have to call the guards, and that will just cause more problems for everyone. It’s easier if I just take her back.”

“Okay,” the medic says after a pause and Allison sags a bit in his arms.

Scott smiles at him and tries not to shake as he pulls the blankets off himself when Allison detaches herself from him. He’s wearing a similar white frock as Allison, made from extremely lightweight fabric. It’s cold without the covers and he winces inwardly as his bare feet touch the white tile floor. He’s also attached to a plastic bag by tubing that goes into his forearm, and he picks up the metal pole that it’s hanging on when he stands, examining small machine it’s attached to and the clear liquid inside it curiously. What is it? Water?

“Here, put this on,” the medic says, as Allison gets out of bed as well, and hands him a white robe.

Scott puts it on carefully, and a pair of white slippers. “Thanks,” he says, trying to sound confident, and not like his head and stomach are killing him.

“It’s this way,” Allison says, pulling him towards the door.

She leads him outside to a wide white hallway, dragging their metal poles with them on wheels, and Scott can’t help but stare into every identical room until they get to the end of the hall.

“Isaac,” Scott gasps, and rushes into the room. He appears to still be sleeping and so Scott sits carefully on the edge of his bed and brushes his hair back a bit. He’s okay. He’s fine.

“Okay, you brought her back,” the medic says from the door, sounding uncomfortable. “You need to go back to your room now.”

“I can’t just stay here?” Scott asks, pretending to be confused. “I mean, it’d mean one less room to look after, right? I’ll just stay with them, you know, make sure they’re getting some rest.”

“I...don’t,” the medic says, frowning. “I mean, I’m not sure that’s allowed.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of other patients you need to attend to, right?” Scott presses, straightening the covers on Isaac’s bed.

“Well, yes, but…” the medic says, looking between Scott and Allison in confusion. Scott gives her a pointed look and she immediately crosses the room to lie back down on her bed again, pulling the blankets over herself.

“Al-alright,” the medic says, though he still looks dubious. “Just stay in bed.”

He leaves and Scott turns over to grin at Allison.

“You’re good,” she tells him with a smirk.

“Yeah, well,” he says, shrugging modestly and turns back to Isaac. He looks the same as he always does when he’s sleeping, very young and peaceful.

Allison gets up from her bed and sit beside him and when he glances up at her he realizes there’s something about her hair that’s...different.

“Your hair…” he says, frowning. It’s straighter than it used to be, free of tangles, of grease and dirt. It’s clean. He reaches up to touch his own hair, which has grown shaggy again after their escape and now brushes the back of his neck annoyingly, and finds it’s equally clean. “Did they give us baths?”

“Must have,” Allison says, shrugging.

Scott reaches out to touch Isaac’s hair softly, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest.

“It looks nice,” he says, looking back up at her.

Allison doesn’t reply and leans into his shoulder. It smells nice, too, like soap. He hasn’t been this clean in weeks, he realizes, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Five minutes later there’s the sound of wheels outside their door and Allison hops back in her bed just in time as the medic opens the door, pushing in a cart with three trays on it. He puts them on their side tables, handing the third one to Scott awkwardly and Scott starts salivating immediately as he takes off the lids.

“That’s it?” Allison asks, looking down at the bowl of what looks like warm milk with cubes of bread in it in disappointment.

“Your stomachs are too shrunken to handle anything else,” the medic tells them.

“It’s true,” Scott reassures her, balancing the tray on his lap and scooping some into his mouth greedily. “We’d get really sick if we tried to eat too much.”

The medic nods at Scott shortly and then wheels the cart away. Scott is just finishing his bowl when Isaac shifts slightly next to his, a soft sound escaping his cracked lips.

“Isaac,” Scott says, putting his tray down on the floor and turning towards him. Isaac’s eyes flutter open and then focus on Scott.

“Wha-” he says and then sits upright so fast Scott has to rear back to avoid being headbutted. “What?!”

“Isaac, it’s okay,” Scott says, alarmed by the panicked look on his face.

“What’s...where are…” Isaac gasps, tears pooling in his eyes. He looks terrified, looking around the room wildly for enemies, scrambling to get out from under the blankets.

“Isaac, Isaac, it’s alright,” Scott says, putting hands carefully on his sides to steady him.

“Where are they?” Isaac demands, stopping his attempt to struggle free of the blankets and gripping Scott tightly instead.

“The doctors?” Allison says, swallowing another bread cube. “They’re gone.”

“It’s just us,” Scott says soothingly, and watches as Isaac closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself down. “It’s okay,” he says, pulling him closer into his arms

Isaac breathes heavily for a minute while Scott rubs his back. Allison watches them curiously from her bed, but her curiosity doesn’t seem to stop her from finishing her food.

“They drugged me,” Isaac says finally, still clinging to Scott tightly.  

“It’s apparently their solution to every problem,” Allison says tightly, setting her bowl down on her tray.

“It’s okay,” Scott tells him gently, even though he has no way of knowing that. Where is his mother? he wonders suddenly with a jolt of panic. He knows she wouldn’t want to leave him. Were they preventing her from seeing him?

“Where are we?” Isaac asks into Scott’s shoulder.

“Their hospital, I guess,” Scott says, glancing around the pristine white room. “Are you hungry? There’s food.”

Isaac looks up and follows Scott’s gaze to the tray on his side table. He reaches for it carefully, but his hands are unsteady and Scott take it from him before he drops it and holds it up so he can spoon the lukewarm milk and mushy bread into his mouth.

“Oh, _milk_ ,” Isaac says with a half laugh. “God, I’ve missed it.”

“Really?” Scott says without thinking. He never had much milk growing up-too expensive- but he didn’t like the taste very much, so he never missed it.

Isaac finishes his bowl quickly-too quickly-and then gets kind of queasy and has to lie back down again. Scott stays at his side while Allison keeps her eyes fixed on the door, tensing and relaxing as footsteps come and go outside their door.

“Scott?” Scott hears someone says distantly. “Scott!”

He gets out of Isaac’s bed and crosses to the door, pushing it open and sticking his head into the white hallway.

His mother is standing at the end of the hallway, looking around frantically.

“I’m here!” he calls to her, heart leaping in his chest, and she rushes towards him, causing a couple passing medics-doctors?- to give them both odd looks.

“Oh, sweetheart, I thought-” his mother says, following him into the room as he opens the door for her and hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says guiltily. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I shouldn’t have left,” his mother says, drawing back to wipe her eyes quickly and smiling at him. “I was at breakfast.”

“I hope it was better than ours,” Scott tries to joke, but his mother’s face falls instead.

“Oh, Scott,” she whispers, looking down at her arms on his waist. “You’re so skinny.”

“I’m fine,” Scott says quickly, feeling his stomach twist in discomfort. He’s always hated when she looks at him like that. It’s not her fault, it’s never her fault, and he hates to make her worry about him.

“Are you a doctor?” Allison asks, and Scott’s mom jumps, obviously not realizing she was there.

Scott looks down at his mother’s clothes and realizes that she’s wearing white now, not gray.

“No, I’m a nurse,” Scott’s mom answers, looking at Allison in minor confusion. Allison is sitting with her knees up against the headboard of the hospital bed, a clear defensive position, like a corner animal with its teeth bared against a threat. Scott wouldn’t be surprised if she started growling. “I help the doctors during surgery and monitor the patients while they’re here.”

“Uh, mom, this is Allison and Isaac,” Scott says, gesturing between both beds, even though she must know who they are. “And this is my mom.”

“Hello,” Allison says, still looking wary. Isaac says nothing, and Scott frowns in confusion. Why were they acting so suspicious?

“It’s nice to meet you,” Scott’s mom says hesitantly, presumably taken aback by their coldness as well. “Umm, I think they’re planning to run a few tests on you later in the morning, but you should be released before lunch.”

“What kind of tests?” Allison asks, at the same time Isaac says: “And go where?”

“Just some bloodwork to make sure you’re not sick with anything,” Scott’s mom says. “Have you both been vaccinated?”

“With what?” Allison asks.

Isaac frowns. “Is that when they stick you with something to keep you from getting sick?”

Scott’s mom nods. “Yes, Scott hasn’t had any, so he’ll have to get the standard ones. Allison, you should probably be okay since you’re from District 2, but I’m not sure about District 7’s health policies.”

“Yeah, I’ve never done that,” Isaac says, pushing himself off his side into a seated position.

“Afterward, you’ll be assigned a compartment to sleep in and when you’re well enough you’ll take a proficiency test and be assigned a job,” Scott’s mother explains. “At least, that’s how it works for most newcomers. It might be different for you because...well. The victors have mostly been involved in filming propaganda pieces that they’ve been airing all over the Districts.”

“The victors?” Allison says, eyes widening. “Which ones?”

“Alan Deaton, you already met, Derek and Peter Hale, Jennifer Blake, Noshiko Yukimura, the District 11 victor from a couple years ago, I forget her name,” Scott’s mother recites. “Wait, no, I think it’s Braeden. They were all at the Capitol mentoring when you broke out of the Arena and managed to escape. Some of the other Victors are fighting in their home Districts as well.” She gives Allison a regretful look. “I’m sorry, your aunt and grandfather aren’t here.”

Allison does not look particularly disappointed or surprised.  

“They’ll probably want to film you as well,” Scott’s mom says. “Just to say that they rescued you, though most of the attention will probably be on Lydia Martin.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says with a short laugh. “She really has no idea what she started.”

“Where is she anyway?” Scott asks. “And Cora?”

“They’re just down the hall,” his mom says, pointing to her left. “They should be released today too. We’ll have to get you up to a healthy weight, but other than that you’re in pretty good shape...all things considered.”

Her eyes go bright with tears and she reaches out to hug Scott again, shaking in his arms. “Oh, my baby,” she sobs quietly. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know, I know,” Scott says hoarsely, tears escaping from the corners of his eyes and dripping down his cheeks. They hold onto each other for a long time, Isaac and Allison watching them with puzzled gazes.

 

* * *

 

After four jabs to each arm that start to ache almost immediately, Scott is released from the hospital. His mother takes him up several floors in the wide elevator, that goes up and down as well as side to side to her living quarters. It’s a narrow white room with two bunks, two chests of drawers and two bureaus.

“The bathrooms and showers are down the hall,” his mother tells him as he sits down on the bed, testing it out. “Unfortunately, they don’t have separate ones for men and women. 13 is a bit...odd in that respect. Alan tried to explain to them that we would prefer to be separate, but they didn’t seem to understand. And they are only a few of us from 12 here.”

“You couldn’t bring anything?” Scott says, looking around the empty room. It barely looks like someone lives here.

She shakes her head. “There really wasn’t time for that. I managed to get your grandmother’s necklace and my father’s watch chain, but that was it.”

“How did you get out?” Scott asks, imagining the District 13 hovercraft floating over his house in the Seam.

“Do you remember your fourth grade teacher? Miss Morrell?” Scott’s mother asks. “She got your father and I out, brought us to the meadow outside the fence. She’s Alan’s sister.”

“Really?” Scott says, surprised. “But, wait, she’s not married. Why do they have different names?”

“I didn’t ask, but I’d guess they grew up in the community home together,” his mother says, sitting down on her bed across from his.

Deaton grew up in a community home? Scott thinks, remembering the miserable faces of those children at school. He supposes it makes sense. He’s never heard of Deaton having any relatives in 12.

“What, what do you think about 13?” he asks her, watching her expression carefully. “Is it...are you doing okay?”

“I am now,” she says, a smile splitting her face. “I thought about you everyday, Scott. They...they said they couldn’t spare the resources to look for you and I thought...I thought I wouldn’t ever see you again.” She takes a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure and smiles waveringly. “But it’s good here, it is. They’re very strict, but there’s always food. I work at the hospital and they have, they have so much medicine. I can help so many people instead of just...telling them they need to eat more.”

“Okay,” Scott says hoarsely, the tightness in his chest easing slightly. “How did, I mean, if they said they wouldn’t look for us…”

“I don’t know,” his mother says, smoothing down the fabric of her gray trousers, a motion that came from years of wearing skirts. “But it’s possible the Hales had something to do with it. Derek, he was not happy that his sister was being left out in the middle of nowhere.”

That made sense, Scott realizes, especially if the victors were being used as propaganda by 13.

“Anyway, that’s where you put your arm in the morning to get your schedule,” his mother says, pointing to the dip in the wall next to the door. She rolls down the sleeve of her gray shirt, identical to the one Scott was given and shows him the black instructions on her skin. “I’m scheduled to be in the hospital right now, but it looks like lunch is going to start in a few minutes. Do you want to head down there?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, getting to his feet, nervous at being apart from Allison and Isaac for so long. He wonders what floor they’re on.

He follows his mother out of their compartment and down the white hallway past several identical gray doors until they get to the elevator again. It takes them down again to a wide room filled with a long line of people waiting before two large door. He and his mother get in the back of the line and Scott looks around for Isaac and Allison, standing on his tip toes to see over the heads of the people in front of him. He doesn’t see them in the sea of gray bodies and tries not to think of illogical worst case scenarios.

“Alright, you don’t have your schedule yet, so we’ll have to talk to someone in the kitchen,” his mother says as they walk through the large doors and into a room filled with rows and rows of brown tables and benches. She puts her arm under a sensor next to a stack of trays, which shines a red light on the barcode at the bottom of her schedule. The light at the top of the sensor turns green and she removes her arm and picks up a tray, two plastic bowls and a small cup, heading for the huge vats at one end of the room. She puts her tray down on a metal shelf and the vats deposit food into each of the bowl and liquid into her cup. It looks like stew of some sort, grayish fish, and milk.

She points him towards a door next to the last vat and he reaches out to knock on the hard metal. After the minute the door opens and a severe-looking woman with blonde hair opens it, looking unimpressed.

“Yes?” she says impatiently.

“Hi, my son just arrived here and he doesn’t have his schedule yet,” Scott’s mother explains. “Do you think you could fix him something? Just the stew maybe?”

“No food without a schedule,” the woman says emotionlessly. “You need to take him to the Head Office to get him a schedule.”

“We’re going there right after lunch, but he was just released from the hospital, so we didn’t have time,” his mother says, while Scott watches uneasily. Was everyone in 13 this inflexible? “He just needs something light. I’m worried he might not make it to dinner.”

The woman glances over Scott with piercing blue eyes, lingering on his skinny arms, and sighs. “Fine,” she says shortly. “Wait here.”

She comes back with a tray two minutes later and then his mother leads him through the rows of numbered tables to their assigned place. His father and Deaton are already there, looking nakedly relieved to see him.

“How are you feeling?” Scott’s father asks as his mother sits down next to Deaton.

“Fine,” Scott says shortly and sits down next to his mother, leaving his father the only one on his side of the table. He doesn’t want to talk to him. He lacks the energy to maintain the level of hatred he’d held towards him most of his childhood, but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with him now. The Games don’t change what happened in the past.

“I’m sorry for the way the doctors reacted last night,” Deaton says, looking over Scott carefully. “I’m afraid 13’s response to situations they feel they have no control over is sedation.”

“It’s okay,” Scott says, though he files that away in his memory for the future. “Hey, you haven’t seen Isaac and Allison, have you?” He cranes his head, looking across the room for any sign of them. “They don’t have more than one dining hall, do they?”

“No, it’s just this one,” his father says, sounding kind of odd. Scott looks away from the front of the dining hall to see all three adults looking uncomfortable.

“What?” he asks, trying not to read too much into the way Deaton has suddenly become fascinated with his fish and his mother rearranges her gray napkin.

“You...are you sure you want to be around them?” his mother asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” Scott says, brow furrowing in confusion. “Why...they’re my friends, of course I want to be around them. Why would you ask me that?”

Scott’s mother exchanges a glance with his father, something Scott finds extremely alarming.

“Look,” Scott’s father says, steeling himself. “I know they helped you in the Games, but you don’t...you didn’t see...you need to be careful around them.”

“Really?” Scott says, raising his eyebrows, a sudden wave of anger rolling through him. He’s not even sure why he’s so angry, except, oh _wait, his drunkard father is trying to tell him who he should be friends with._ “ _You’re_ trying to tell me who I should be careful of?”

Scott’s father pales and swallows. “I-”

“No,” Scott says shortly, turning back to look around the room. “We’re not talking about this.”

Discomfort itches him as he scans the room for blond hair. His father was one thing, but why did his mother not want Allison or Isaac around him? They’d saved his life, on screen, she must have seen...unless they didn’t show that in the recaps. Maybe they only saw the Cornucopia. That would explain it. Well, they’d just have to see that they weren’t really like that. Allison, especially, was different now. And it was the Games, everyone was trying to survive, didn’t they understand that? They couldn’t fear the Victors for winning, could they? It wasn’t their fault, they didn’t have a choice, not really.

To his utmost relief he spots Allison and Isaac dressed in the ubiquitous gray shirt and trousers by the kitchen door, a guard speaking to the same woman from the kitchens who’d given him his food. When they’re given their own trays he shoots to his feet and waves at them frantically even though it causes his sore arm to protest vigorously, resisting the urge to call out of them.

Isaac spots him and waves back, heading over to him immediately.

“Hey,” Scott says, trying not to show how relieved he is at the mere sight of them. “Sit down. You get to your room, okay?”

“Yeah,” Allison says, glancing over at the other occupants of the table suspiciously. She sits down on Scott’s father’s side, but gives him a wide berth. Isaac sits down beside her.

“This is my dad,” Scott says, wanting to get introductions over with to put them at ease. “And you met Mr. Deaton last night.”

“Hi,” Isaac says, glancing skeptically over at them before turning back to his food.

“What room are you in?” Allison asks him, completely ignoring the rest of the table.

“307, you?”

“592,” she replies.

“Okay,” Scott says, committing the number to memory. “We were going to the Head Office after this to get schedules,” he tells them, wanting to have at least some certainty about the rest of the day. “Wanna come with?”

“Yeah, they told us we had to go there too,” Isaac says through a mouthful of stew. “They are _obsessed_ with rules here, aren’t they? And the clothes? _Ugh_. My shoes don’t fit right, but they wouldn’t let me have my Tribute boots back.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, finishing his bowl of stew. He’s still really hungry and tries to avoid looking at anyone else’s food. “Hey, there’s Lydia!”

She’s at the other end of the room, holding her tray and looking around the room for an empty table. He stand up and waves, but she doesn’t seem to see him. “Hey, Lydia!” he calls.

She looks at him and hesitates for a second before walking towards him.

“Hi,” she says shortly, plopping down next to Scott.

“You doing okay?” he asks, looking her up and down. “Where’s Cora?”

“Fine,” she replies without looking at him, scooping a mouthful of stew into her mouth. “She’s with her brother.”

“That’s good,” Scott says, feeling the anxiety at not knowing where they were easing a bit. “You get into your room okay?”

“Fine,” Lydia says easily, brushing her hair back onto her back. She leans over her bowl, ignoring the rest of the people in the table. Scott feels a twinge of irritation at her rudeness, but it quickly becomes clear why. Heads have turned in their direction, gray-clad people leaning together and whispering vigorously. And they’re not just looking at Lydia, they’re looking at him too, and Allison and Isaac.

They didn’t watch the Games here, did they? Or maybe they just knew that they were the escaped Tributes. He guess he could see why people would be interested. No one had ever escaped the Games before and they’d be alone in the wild for almost a month. Everyone probably thought they were dead. His mother said they’d probably want to film them for one of their propaganda pieces, to show both the Capitol and the Districts that they’d survived. It should make him nervous, and it does, but he’s also a little relieved too. That they need him for something. He hates feeling useless, being a burden. And if he can help the revolution in one small way…

“Has anyone talked to you about anything?” he asks Lydia quietly. “I mean, from 13. Do you know what they’re going to want us to do?”

She glances at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously, and shakes her head. “No one’s told me anything. I assume they’ll find us some sort of job.”

She says it distastefully, like the idea of working is repugnant to her.

“Uh, well, I’m pretty sure they’re going to want to use you,” Scott tells her, realizing she’s even more in the dark than he is. “I mean, you blew up the Arena. My mom said they’ve been filming the victors.”

“Propaganda,” she says unhappily. “Of course.”

Lydia is from District 1, Scott realizes. Does she even want to be part of a revolution? She has to, right? After the Games. What the Capitol put them through.

Or maybe she’s thinking about her parents. What would the Capitol do to them if their daughter started publically supporting the revolution?

“So…what do they want us to say?” Isaac asks, putting down his empty bowl and eyeing the food vats at the front of the room hungrily. “I mean, everyone saw everything, right? What else is there to say?”

“They probably want to show us alive and defiant,” Lydia says, scrapping the bottom of her bowl uselessly. She looks almost unrecognizable from the beautiful girl in the white dress during her interview, gaunt-cheeked, thin-wristed, hair dull and limp, dark circles a stark relief to her pale face. Her nails are cracked in several places, and her lips looked like they might start to bleed every time she opens his mouth. Scott is in a similar state, he knows, wincing down at his own nails. “Or maybe they’ll want us to talk about what we did in the Games. Cry about everything we did. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry for killing those kids, the Capitol made me do it-”

“I’m not saying that,” Allison snaps, harsher than was strictly necessary.

Scott’s parents and Deaton glance over at her automatically. Her face is tight with anger and she looks seconds away from stabbing something with her spoon.

“You really care?” Isaac says skeptically. “Man, I don’t. I’ll say whatever they want me to as long as they don’t kick us out.”

Allison’s jaw tightens even further, shoulders stiff, and Scott reaches across the table to touch her hand. “Hey,” he says, tracing the first knuckle of her thumb.”We’ll figure out. They probably just want to show that we’re alive.”

He can’t imagine what else they would want them for. Panem has been watching the victors for years. The Capitol was particularly obsessed with Derek Hale, who despite appearing to be in a perpetually bad mood, still managed to garner a legion of loyal fans simply because of the way he looked. Scott never really understood it, to be honest. But surely 13 would want to focus on the people who are well-known all throughout Panem, not five Tributes who managed to escape out of sheer luck. Well, they’d probably want to talk to Lydia about her motivations, how she’d gone from a Career determined to win the Games to wanting to escape, and maybe Cora, because she was a Hale, but he really doubts they’d want much with him, Isaac, or Allison. He doesn’t think they were featured much on screen anyway. He can’t imagine the Gamemakers would have found him, Isaac, and Allison hiding in a cave and wandering around looking for food very interesting once they realized they weren’t going to turn on each other. It was hardly very dramatic except for once or twice, and Scott automatically pushes those incidents out of his mind. He doesn’t want to think about the Games. Or talk about them. This is probably what Allison feels, he realizes.

She nods shortly and he withdraws his hand, suddenly feeling the other’s stares on him. He hadn’t even thought about...did he tell his mother about Allison and Isaac? He can’t imagine lying to her, but he also can’t imagine her approving of what they were doing.

He doesn’t have much time to worry about it though, because then a loud bell rings and people begin to empty out of the cafeteria, dropping their trays and dishes off on racks by the door.

His mom has to go back to the hospital, his dad some class about machine maintenance, so Deaton takes them up to the Head Office to get their assignments. Except when they get there the guard takes one look at them and tells them they’re needed in Command.

“What’s Command?” Isaac mutters as they take the elevator down again.

“Oh, I don’t know, what could it be?” Allison says sarcastically, but Scott can tell that she’s just as nervous as he is.

Command? What would they want with them there? It’s just an introduction, right? They couldn’t be in trouble, could they?

The elevator opens to a long white hallway, but there’s only one black door at the end of it, two guards on either side. Scott eyes their guns nervously, but they step aside as they get closer. Deaton opens the door and they follow him into a large dimly lit room full of screens and maps, a huge table in the center halfway full of people.

He recognizes some immediately. Cora is sitting next to her brother and her uncle. Across from them is Jennifer Blake and the female District 11 victor who won eight years ago. At the head of the table there’s an tan older woman with short brown hair, flanked by two stiff looking men in black, and a couple pale pockmarked people who can only be from 13 and three people with jet black hair and narrow eyes who are most likely from District 3.

“President Calavera,” Deaton says formally, inclining his head to the woman at the head of the table.

“Come in, sit down,” she says perfunctorily, gesturing at the few seats left on the other end of the table. “Welcome to District 13,” she tells them, a serious expression on her face, but there’s something about the way she’s speaking that makes Scott think she’s just trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. ”I am President Araya Calavera. I realize this must be very disorienting for you, but you are safe to recover here.”

“And then what?” Lydia asks, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her gray shirt. “What do you want from us?”

The president raises her eyebrows at Lydia’s blunt response. “We need you to assist in the war effort. In any way possible.”

Something beeps on the screen directly behind her and the man to her right, older as well, with narrow eyes and a perpetually frowning mouth, gets up and goes over to the screen, speaking quietly into the device on his wrist.

“Is that a problem?” the president asks, arching one brow at Lydia.

Lydia swallows and stiffens, as if preparing herself for a fight. “Are my parents dead?” she asks, voice shaking slightly.

The president glances over to one of the pockmarked people down the table.

“We’re not sure,” she tells Lydia. The marks span the left side of her face, and the corner of her mouth is slightly distorted. “The Argents have been outspoken in their support of the Capitol, but we’ve heard nothing about your parents. We don’t have many contacts in 1, but since the Capitol hasn’t tried to use them in their propaganda, we can only assume they are in hiding.”

Lydia doesn’t really look like she believes that, but doesn’t ask anything further.

“We need to show the Capitol that you’re alive and well, but first you need to take a few days to recover,” the President says, already looking bored with this conversation. “And your schedules will reflect that. In the meantime, if you have any questions about daily life here, you may speak to your Level Manager.”

It’s a clear dismissal and Scott gets to his feet, along with all the non-13 people in the room.

“Well, that’s comforting,” Isaac mutters under his breath as they walk out into the hallway, watching the victors pile out of the room as well.

“Hello, Lydia,” Peter Hale says, looking over her emaciated form. “You’re looking...well.”

“Don’t talk to me,” she says rudely and breezes right by him towards the elevator.

Do they know each other? Scott wonders, and by the startled looks on Cora and Derek’s faces they’re probably wondering the same thing.

“Hey, Cora,” Scott says as the group of them walk towards the elevator. “Doing okay?” A bruise has formed on her left cheek-probably from yesterday.

She gives him a suspicious look like she’s not sure why he’s asking. “Fine,” she says flatly.

“Fine is not exactly how I’d describe it,” Jennifer Blake says, looking over them coldly. She’s a tall woman with straight brown hair and Scott finds himself wanting to shrink back from her as much as possible, the memories of her bashing the male District 12 tribute’s head against a rock from her Games painfully clear. “I can’t believe you’re all still alive you’re such idiots.”

“Nice to see you too,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t get me started on you,” she says in disgust. “You didn’t listen to a single thing I told you. What kind of idiot falls for another tribute in the _Hunger Games_ ? From _12_ , no less?”

Isaac pales and Scott feels his heart leap into his throat. What was she saying? How did she-

“Shut up,” Isaac snaps, and Scott doesn’t dare look anywhere else but at the elevator door, feeling the stares of the other victors on him, Deaton, too, oh God, what if he told his _mom_ that-

The elevator door dings open, and Scott steps inside quickly, eager to put an end to this conversation and get away from their judging eyes. When he turns around, he comes face to face with the three people from District 3 stepping into the elevator behind Isaac and Allison. Except one of them is clearly not from District 3, Scott realizes, mouth dropping open as he stares at girl in the middle.

It’s the District 5 Tribute, Kira.

“What the hell?” Lydia says from beside him, seeming to realize it at the same time. “You’re...you’re _dead_.”

“Uh,” the girl says as she steps into the elevator, glancing back at an older woman behind her-her mother? “No, I’m...I’m not.”

Oh, no, what if it’s her sister? Scott thinks for a split second of horror.

“It’s kind of a long story,” she says, with a weak grin. The elevator doors close and Derek reaches out to hit 11, 7, and 6.

“Uh, can you hit 3 and 5?” Scott asks, before turning back to Kira.

He’s not the only one staring at her, and she ducks her head a little uncomfortably. The man next to her puts his arm around her and turns her so that she’s facing the doors.

Isaac, Allison, and Lydia continue goggling at her until she gets off the elevator with her family at Level 8. Derek and Braeden get off on Level 11, and Cora gets off on Level 7.

“Come with us,” Allison says, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt when the doors open on Level 5.

“Okay,” Scott says and turns to wave at Deaton and Peter Hale awkwardly, not wanting to make eye contact with either of them. “See you later.”

“Get some rest, Scott,” Deaton says gently.

Lydia follows them out of the elevator.

“Are you on this floor too?” Scott asks her as the elevator doors close. “What room?”

“No, I’m on Level 4,” Lydia says, looking around the white hallway. “I’ll just take the stairs.”

She head for a white door on the other end of the hallway with a picture of stairs on it, and Scott frowns in confusion at her behavior. He doesn’t really understand her at all.

“Over here, Scott,” Isaac says, pointing toward the other end of the hallway.

He follows them through several turns to compartment 592. It’s identical inside to Scott and his mother’s compartment, but only one of the beds has been made up.

“Well, guess that could have been worse,” Isaac says, flopping down on the made up bed, and then winces. “Ow, shit, I didn’t think it would still hurt as much.”

“Yeah,” Scott says, gingerly reaching up to massage his sore left bicep. “My mom said it might take a couple days to go away.”

Isaac turns over and groans into the mattress.

“You usually don’t get eight at once,” Allison says, and sits down next to Isaac, leaning up against the wall.  

“So...um, that...Jennifer was your Mentor?” Scott asks awkwardly, hesitant to even broach the subject at all.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, not lifting his head. “Not much of one, though. She made it pretty clear she didn’t give a shit what happened to Heather and I.”

“Oh,” Scott says, not really surprised. He’d had nightmares about her merciless rampage through her Games for years as a child. He’s pretty sure she has one of the highest kill counts in Games history.

“What is up with that girl from 5?” he asks, sitting up suddenly. Scott wonders if he’s just trying to steer the conversation away from what Jennifer said. “Didn’t she die on, like, the second day of the Games? How’d she get out?”

“Her mother is Noshiko Yukimura, the winner of the 39th Games,” Allison tells them, “and the mayor of 5. She must have pulled a lot of strings.”

“Huh,” Isaac says, looking mildly interested. “How does a mayor’s kid even get Reaped in the first place, though. I mean, that can’t be an accident.”

“Her mother’s a victor,” Allison says with a weary shrug. “And the Capitol loves their legacies.”

“Yeah, but you’d figure she’d get out of it, being the mayor,” Isaac says idly. “Hey, do you know when dinner is? There was almost nothing in that stew.”

“Uh, 19:00, I think,” Scott says, remembering the schedule on his mother’s arm. He looks over at Allison and Isaac, wishing he could join them on the bed, but thinks better of it, and sits on the unmade bed across from them.

Everything is different now. They’re going to live, probably, and he can’t just presume they can continue where they left off. They might not want him anymore, he tells himself, and he has to respect that.

“What are you doing over there?” Allison asks with a frown. “Come here.”

“Oh,” Scott says, and can’t help but beam as he gets up and sits between them. Allison kicks off her shoes and brings her feet up onto the bed, pulling him down to lie next to her, and Isaac follows immediately, looping an arm over Scott’s waist. It’s a tight fit; the bed is much smaller than the one in the cabin, though bigger than his bed at home, but their presence on either side of him calms the anxiety in him that’s been pressing on his ribcage since he woke up this morning.

Everything isn’t solved, not even close, but there’s at least some small measure of stability, of what the next week will bring. Everything will work out, he tells himself, pressing his face into Allison’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The next few days pass very slowly. Despite the enormous task of becoming accustomed to all of District 13’s confusing rules and layout, Scott finds himself almost bored after a while. In the wilderness they’d spent the majority of their time looking for food, but now all they have to do is go to the dining hall for increasing portions of tasteless grain and vegetables. Bathing is sort of traumatizing- there is absolutely no privacy and Scott tries very hard to keep his eyes fixed on the wet tile below the shower spigot instead at the room full of naked men and women around him, chattering happily amongst each other like there’s nothing weird about this at all. When his mother isn’t working he spends time with her, and he sits with Deaton and his father at lunch, but most of the time he finds himself without anything to do but wait for the next meal. He goes up to the fenced-off area outside for fresh air a couple times, but 13 isn’t set up for idle people, so Scott ends up spending a lot of time in Allison and Isaac’s compartment.

After dropping off his and his mother’s sheets at the laundry on Level 10 after breakfast, Scott takes the elevator up to Level 5. He knocks on the gray door of their compartment, even though none of the compartment in 13 lock, and grins when Isaac pulls open the door.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he steps inside, noticing the scowl on Allison’s face. She’s sitting in the desk chair in front of the bed she and Isaac have been sharing. They hadn’t even made up the other one and it always makes Scott warm thinking about them wanting to be close with each other.

Isaac snorts with laughter, flopping down on the bed. “She’s pissed because she found out they don’t have condoms here.”

“What?” Scott says, frowning at her.

“I went to hospital and asked,” Allison says, looking furious. “No contraception of any kind. They actually want women to get _pregnant_ here.”

She says the word pregnant like people in District 12 say adulterer.

“Okay…” Scott says, confused as to why she even asked about it in the first place. It wasn’t like they needed prophylactics anyway. Allison didn’t even want fingers inside her-he assumed that she wouldn’t be interested in intercourse either. Right?

“Stop smirking like that,” Allison tells Isaac in annoyance. “This affects you too. There’s no way you’re getting any of this without protection.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Isaac says, still smirking. “You want this, don’t lie.” He gestures down at his crotch lewdly.

Allison gives him a disgusted look. “I want Scott,” she says bluntly. “ _You_ are a distant afterthought.”

Scott feels his cheeks flame. Was she-did she mean she wanted-

“There aren’t a lot of kids here, now that you mention it,” Isaac says idly, crossing his arms behind his head.

“There was some plague that killed most of them,” Allison says dismissively. “So they won’t let you get rid of it even if you get pregnant by accident. You have to _carry it around_ for nine months and then _squeeze_ it out.”

Scott frowns at her disgusted tone. Was she somehow not aware of how childbirth worked?

“Yeah, that’s usually how it works for those of us not grown in vats,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes at her.

“What?” Scott says. “What do you mean?”

“She’s a vat baby,” Isaac explains. “You know, all the rich women in the Capitol wouldn’t _dream_ of ruining their figures. So they grow their kids in vats.”

“Wait, really?” Scott says in shock, turning to stare at Allison for confirmation. He’d never heard of that before.

“Childbirth is for animals,” Allison informs him. “It is much safer to grow a child in a synthetic womb. And genetic engineering prevents defects, and ensures the child gets the best genes from the parents.”

“So you’re saying you’re basically a robot?” Isaac says, looking her up and down. “That explains a lot.”

“At least I know my parents wanted me,” Allison says harshly. “Can you say the same?”

Isaac stiffens and Scott can see she’s struck a nerve. “Okay, enough,” he says, giving Allison a stern look.

He sits down next to Isaac on the bed and puts his hand of his arm.

“So...your mother was never pregnant?” he asks Allison, trying to wrap his mind around it.

“No,” Allison says, grimacing as if the mere thought of it disgusted her.

Well, that was...weird, Scott thinks, imagining a room full of metal vats like the ones in the dining hall full of babies. It seems unnatural and...cold, to have a baby grow inside of a vat instead of a mother’s womb. He thinks of all the pregnant women that came to his mother for tinctures for morning sickness or herbs to improve the health of the baby. They always seemed so proud of their swollen stomachs, excited at the possibility of new life. Well, most of them were. But then he thinks of all the times his mother came back to their house after a forty hour labor with an armful of bloodstained rags, defeat and misery in every movement. And the two burials that followed.

Maybe Allison had a point.

“It’s barbaric,” Allison continues, looking annoyed. “I want my implant. They made me take it out before the Games, like it would offer me some superior advantage.” At Scott’s confused look, she points to her abdomen. “It prevented me from getting pregnant.”

“Huh, useful,” Isaac says, while Scott feels himself blushing again at her straightforward manner, the implication of _why_ she is so annoyed at the lack of family planning options in 13.

She wants to have intercourse. With _him_. He feels sort of lightheaded at the thought of it.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Isaac says from next to him, grinning fiendishly.

“Thinking about what?” Scott says, trying to play dumb.

Allison gets out of the chair and crawls across the bed towards him, hips swaying exaggeratedly. Scott swallows at the wicked look on her face as she sits down in his lap, winding her arms around his neck. “You are, aren’t you.”

“Okay, yeah,” Scott admits, heat stirring in his belly at the feel of her on top of him. He puts his arms around her waist and leans up to kiss her.

She responds fiercely, rucking up his shirt and pressing him back against the wall.

“Oh,” Scott gasps, when she tilts his head up to kiss his neck. They haven’t had sex since they got to 13, just lay in bed together and kissed chastely, but now he feels like all of his skin is on fire for want of it.

He feels Isaac’s hands tugging at his shirt and lifts his arms, turning his head to kiss him too. They fall back on the narrow bed together, clumsily struggling out of their gray clothes. Allison leans over him, hair hanging down over the side of her face, casting a shadow over his face against the bright lights in their compartment that turn on at 6:30 and turn off at 22:30 automatically. Her dark eyes seem to glitter as she looks down at him like she wants to devour him, and Scott is struck deep in his core for a moment at the knowledge of how much she wants him. Both of them. He never thought...he never imagined anyone would look at him like that.

“Oh, c’mon, move over,” Isaac complains tightly and Scott huffs with laughter, reaching out to pull him down to his side and sliding one hand down his bare back, the other reaching up to cup one of Allison’s breasts.

Later, Scott lies on his side, Isaac curled around his back while Allison sleeps with her cheek pressed to his chest. Scott glances down, but the blankets are bunched all the way at the end of the bed and he feels very self-conscious exposed like this. It was always very dim in their bedroom in the cabin, even during the daytime because of blanket they’d hung over the window to block out the bright light so they could sleep more than a couple hours at a time. In comparison, the two rectangular lights in the ceiling shine very brightly, making him very aware of his skinny dark body against the white sheets. He thinks he might have gotten even darker from being out in the sun so much the past month.

“Hey,” Isaac murmurs, breath ghosting over the nape of his neck. His hand moves from Scott’s stomach to his hip. “What are you thinking about?”

“Is this...I mean, do people in District 7 do this?” Scott asks, gesturing between their bodies and shifting carefully over onto his back so he can see his face. Allison grumbles as she’s jostled and latches onto his arm like she’s afraid he might be ripped away from her, but doesn’t open her eyes.

He hadn’t asked before because it didn’t really matter. They were going to die anyway. But now...they’re going to live, hopefully, and still doing...whatever this is. He should probably figure out what this is.

Isaac grimaces and leans down to press his cheek against Scott’s shoulder. “Not really,” he says, tracing up and down Scott’s protruding ribs idly. “You mean three people, right? Not in 7. They probably do in the Capitol, though. They’re all crazy there.”

Scott gives him a dubious look. That didn’t exactly make him feel better.

“I don’t really care though,” Isaac says easily, grinning against his skin. “Allison’s annoying, but she’s also majorly hot, so…”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“And _you_ ,” Isaac continues, pressing his palm firmly against Scott’s abdomen for a second before moving it upwards to tweak Scott’s left nipple.

“Wha- _hey_ ,” Scott splutters, feeling his face flush.

Isaac just grins wickedly and lifts himself up on his arms over Scott and leans down to lick at it with his pink tongue.

“What...what are you doing?” Scott squeaks in embarrassment. It's _weird_ and kind of ticklish. “Why are you licking my…”

“Your nipples?” Isaac lifts his head to smirk up at him. “They're cute.”

Scott has absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He is quite certain he never imagined anyone would say that to him in his life, much less a pale District 7 boy naked on top of him.

“And _you_ ,” Isaac continues, voice almost a purr, “are very sexy.”

“Okay…?” Scott says, because he is most decidedly not. Isaac has very strange perceptions sometimes.

“You are,” Isaac insists, nonchalantly rubbing his palm up Scott's bony side. He has a bit of dried white crusty residue from Allison still stuck to the corner of his mouth.  “The drawstring pants they have here make me want to blow you constantly.”

“ _Isaac_!” Scott yelps, indignant and laughing at the same time. “Don't just _say_ things lik-”

“It's true,” Isaac shrugs, leaning down to scrape his teeth delicately above Scott's collarbone. “In the hallway, in the elevator, in the showe-”

Scott drags him up to kiss him to shut him up. Isaac responds fiercely and he tastes like Allison, which weirdly just makes Scott even more ardent. After a minute Scott finds himself pinned to the bed, Isaac mouthing enthusiastically at his neck.

“ _Ngh_ , don't leave any marks,” Scott pants, clutching at Isaac's shoulders for dear life. This should not feel so good, he thinks hazily. It's a naked boy on top of him. Why does this feel so good?

“Fine,” Isaac sighs into his ear and Scott jerks under him, suppressing a traitorous whimper, because his neck is aching for more after all that attention.

He shifts and something hard brushes Scott's hip.

“Wha-again?” Scott says, looking down at his erection.

“The benefits of no longer starving,” Isaac quips. “Don't worry you'll get there. Now you gonna help me out here?”

Isaac is acting too cocky, Scott decides, and pushes him off him.

“Roll over,” he orders.

“Wha- _Scott_ ,” Isaac whines, leaning back on his haunches.

“You want me to help you out?” Scott asks, giving Isaac’s erection a pointed look.

Isaac grins and maneuvers his way onto his back, Scott straddling him. He smirks up at him, clearly completely unashamed at being naked and aroused under the bright lights.

“C'mon,” he breathes up at Scott, tossing his chin up a little and arching his back enticingly. “Touch me.”

He really is very pale under these lights, Scott observes. He can see the blue of his veins through his skin in some places, which is kind of gross. Clearly these lights are flattering to no one.

“Scott,” Isaac hisses, bringing his hands up to drag Scott down on top of him. “Don't just look at me-”

“Uh uh,” Scott says without thinking. “Hands.”

Isaac freezes, eyes going wide with shock. For a second Scott regrets his words, but then Isaac lets go of his hips and slowly raises his arms to grip the headboard.

Scott smiles and leans down to kiss him as a reward, running his hands down his chest, and Isaac moans into the kiss desperately, body trembling under Scott's hands.

Scott moves slowly down his body, oddly enjoying drawing it out, kissing his way down his neck, chest, nipples, abdomen, while Isaac shakes with desire. He likes this, making Isaac want so badly. Being in control. It feels useful, and Scott has always liked feeling useful.

“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” Isaac gasps, belly quivering.

“Shh,” Scott murmurs into his navel, worried he'll wake Allison.

Isaac falls silent, even when Scott finally gets his mouth on his dick, though he squirms so much Scott's afraid they might fall out of bed.

He comes with a muffled cry, and Scott chokes on his bitter semen, swallowing it because there's really nothing else he can do. Wiping his mouth, Scott look up to see Isaac gasping for breath, hands still holding onto the headboard weakly. He crawls over to him and pulls his hands off the headboard, wrapping them around his waist and kissing his sweaty forehead.

“Mm,” Isaac mumbles, clutching his waist. “Getting good at that.”

“I try,” Scott says honestly, and maneuvers them onto their sides.

Isaac makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and snuggles closer to Scott, while Scott shifts uncomfortably, aware that he's half-hard.

An arm wraps around him from behind and Scott jumps a little as Allison nips at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” she murmurs sleepily, turning his head to look back at her. Scott catches the pleased look glittering in her dark eyes for just a second before her hand wraps around his dick and she kisses him. Things get a little distracting after that.

She gives him a lovebite, low on his shoulder, but Scott is too blissed-out to care.

 

* * *

 

Scott wakes up with a terrified cry, struggling against the sheets he's found himself tangled in. He looks around the dark room in panic, but there is no sign of the District 6 Tributes or the District 4 boy. Because he's in 13.

“Scott?” his mother says, shifting in her bed. “What's wrong?”

Scott can't answer her, tears of fear burning in his eyes. He chokes back a sob and huddles against the wall, misery drowning him.

“Scott?” his mother says again, and he hears her get out of bed, his mattress dipping slightly a second later as she sits down next to him. “Baby, talk to me.”

What's wrong? Everything is wrong. Harley is _dead_. They're all dead and for six weeks Scott truly believed he would be at any moment.

He wraps his arms around his legs and sobs quietly into his knees, but he doesn't protest when his mother pulls him down onto the bed and wraps him up in her arms like she did for months after Stiles died.

“Oh, Scott, it's alright, you're going to be okay,” his mother says, but her voice trembles and she sounds on the verge of tears herself.

It is not going to be okay. How can it be? He thought he was back in the Games. Back running for his life, starving, freezing, watching other children being murdered. He will never be able to forget it. He'll have to remember it everyday for the rest of his life.

He wants to forget. He can't do this, feel like this forever. He'll go mad. He wants to forget, forget it all. Why can't he just make himself erase it from his memory?

“They're all dead,” he sobs into her shoulder. “They're all...they just. I couldn't save her, I tried, but I couldn't-”

“It's not your fault,” his mother says, just like she said all those years ago too, clutching his back tightly. “Scott, it's not...you did your best, you came home to me, baby, I'm so proud of you…”

He did survive. But he's not sure if he came home, not completely. Somehow, he thinks there's always going to be a piece of him back in the Games.

 

* * *

 

Scott stirs his bowl of hot grain unenthusiastically. His portion size is now almost three times as big as it was the day he got here, but he doesn't have much of an appetite this morning. He still feels sick from his nightmare.

“You should finish that,” Allison tells him.

“Yeah, I will,” Scott says, picking up one of the sour red berries in a small bowl at the side of his tray and popping it into his mouth.

“Are you feeling alright, Scott?” Deaton asks from the other side of the table.

“Yeah, just tired,” he says with a shrug, looking down at his tray.

He can feel his father's eyes on him, but thankfully he's learned to keep his mouth shut around Scott, especially after his mother's already left for her shift at the hospital and therefore isn't around to act as a buffer.

He looks up at the people around them to avoid looking at anyone at his table and sees the District 5 girl walking towards him with her tray. She catches his eye and then quickly looks away, ducking her head and walking past his table hurriedly.

Scott turns back to his food and forces down another bite of hot grain glop. He guesses he's not the only one having a hard time adjusting.

A couple hours later he's taking the elevator back to his compartment after showing Lydia the Laundry on Level 10, when the doors open on Level 6 and she's there. Her eyes go wide for a second, but she steps into the elevator anyway after a brief pause, shoulders stiff.

Scott avoids the impulse to look at her as the mechanical doors close. He clearly makes her uncomfortable, even though he's not exactly sure why. Maybe the sight of him reminds her of the Games.

So he's very much taken by surprise when she actually speaks.

“Hey,” she says hesitantly, as the elevator climbs to the next floor. “I wanted to apologize...for before.”

He turns to frown at her. “What for?”

“I…” she says, shifting nervously. “I didn't mean to be rude.”

“Oh,” Scott says, not really sure what she means. “It's okay.”

“I've sort of been, anxious, I guess?” she continues, brushing her long black hair back shakily. “Ever since...But I don't mean to be rude.”

“No, it's okay,” Scott says, kind of worried about her now. “It's...um...Kira, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking sort of surprised he knows her name.

“Don't worry about it,” Scott reassures her. “I wasn't offended or anything.”

“Oh, good,” she says, looking incredibly relieved, like this was something she'd been worrying over.

Scott wants to say something else to put her at ease, but then the elevator comes to a stop at Level 4.

“Thanks,” she says, getting off and smiling at him as she turns around. “I'll see you around, Scott.”

It’s an odd encounter, but it kind of does make Scott feel better, to know he isn’t the only one having difficulty after the Games. Allison and Isaac seem preoccupied with adjusting to life in 13, and he only sees Lydia at meals, Cora even less. He thought he was just weak.

He probably is, anyway. But it’s nice to know he’s not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am still writing this monster. I thought I would be done by now, but no, it continues. 
> 
> Like all the societies in the Hunger Games, District 13 is super screwed up in its own special way, so I am enjoying writing more culture clash as Scott navigates this new environment and reunites with his mother. And so many new characters! Let me know what you think and leave a comment! :)


	12. The Propo

A week after their arrival in 13, though it seems like much longer than that, Scott sticks his arm into the hole in the wall in his compartment in the morning and sees “8:00--Remake Room” on his schedule right after breakfast.

“You’d think they’d give us a little warning,” Lydia says unhappily at breakfast.

“They did say a week,” Isaac says with a shrug, but he looks nervous as well, mashing up his boiled turnips instead of eating them.

“It’s the only thing on our schedule for the rest of the day,” Scott says, rolling up his sleeve to look at the dark ink on his arm. “Is it really going to take that long?”

“It shouldn’t, but they block off the entire day just in case,” Deaton says.

“Did you make one too?” Lydia asks, turning to him abruptly. “What did they want you to do?”

Deaton’s face sort of freezes for a second and Scott’s mom pauses with her cup of milk halfway to her mouth, glancing at him nervously.

“No, I didn’t,” Deaton replies softly. “But I’ll be interviewing Scott.”

“What?” Scott says, turning to stare at him. “Really?”

“They found it helps if you know the person asking the questions. Though I think the rest of you will be with someone from the Capitol.”

“Yeah, I can’t see Jennifer agreeing to that,” Isaac says with a scoff, and Deaton hides a rueful smile.  “So they’re just going to ask us questions? I can do that.”

Allison and Lydia do not look so reassured, however, and Scott can’t help but agree with them. Deaton is going to ask him questions about the Games, right? What else would they want to talk to them about?

He doesn’t want to talk about the Games. Even the thought of it sends a tightness through his chest and ruins his appetite. Still, he finishes his breakfast and drops off his tray and dishes on the racks without comment.

The Remake Room is on Level 2 and thankfully the prep team getting them ready for the cameras is not as terrible as the one from the Games, even if they’re from the Capitol as well. They give him a quick haircut and put makeup on his face to make his skin look lighter for the cameras, and then send him to the Production Room.

They sit in the waiting room while they get the Production Room ready and a minute later Cora comes comes in, not with her brother or uncle, but with the District 11 Victor. They sit down in the back of the room side by side and they don’t speak, but there’s a familiarity to their movements that is undeniable. Do they know each other?

Still, he doesn’t dwell on it much, and turns back forward to look at the gray wall, knees shaking slightly under his forearm. Isaac puts his hand on his leg comfortingly, but he doesn’t say anything.

Lydia comes back after half an hour, sick-looking even with the make-up.

“How was it?” Cora demands.

“Fine,” Lydia says shortly, heading for the exit.

“No, not fine,” Cora says, getting to her feet. “What did they ask you?”

“Just what you’d expect,” Lydia says without looking at her and pulls open the door. “I’ll see you back at the room.”

“Hey, wai-” Cora starts, but the District 11 victor pulls her back.

“Cora, it’s fine,” she tells her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there, okay?”

Cora looks mutinous, but sits back down.

Scott glances at Allison, who’s looking at the exit longingly. Cora and Lydia were rooming together? Lydia hadn’t said. Though to be fair, she barely said anything at meals. Scott has no idea what she’s been doing the past week.

Allison goes next and when she comes out Scott doesn’t even try to ask her any questions. The utterly blank look on her face tells him all that he needs to know.

Cora is next and comes out looking equally pale, but not as angry, and Isaac just seems tired.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, flopping down next to Scott. “They just ask you why you did what you did. Wasn’t that hard.”

Yeah, he guesses. He just doesn’t want to talk about Harley. Or the District 11 Tributes.

“Okay,” Scott says, trying to put on a brave face. Isaac’s face softens and he looks like he wants to kiss Scott for a second, but doesn’t because Deaton’s in the room.

“Scott,” Deaton says gently. “We should probably go in now.”

“You’ll be fine,” Isaac says, getting up when Scott stands. “I’d better go make sure Allison doesn’t stab anyone on the way back to the room. Come back when you’re done.”

“Yeah,” Scott nods, trying for a smile.

He follows Deaton out of the waiting room into a large black room. In the center there’s two chairs with bright lights shining on them, balanced on black stands.

“Go and sit down,” a woman with an oddly jagged haircut says, handing Deaton a piece of paper. Scott tries to see what questions are on it. She goes back into another room, one with a large glass window allowing her to see into the Production Room.

Scott sits down in the chair on camera and tries to calm himself. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s just answering some questions. He can do this. It’s not like they’re going to want to know much about him anyway.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready,” the woman says over the intercom.

“Okay, Scott,” Deaton says with a strained smile, glancing down at the list of questions. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

“Oh, well, I’m Scott,” Scott says, a little taken off guard by the open-endedness of the question. “Scott McCall. From District 12. I’m 16, I…” He’s not sure what else to say. “I live with my mother, in 12. She’s a healer, like a doctor, I guess.”

“That’s how you were about to help people in the Games?” Deaton prompts, and even the word itself, out loud, makes Scott‘s stomach jolt unpleasantly.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, looking away from Deaton to the people behind the glass, the lights of their machines blinking distractingly.

“Can you talk a little more about that? Why you chose to help people in the Games. People who tried to kill you.”

Scott shrugs a little helplessly. “I just...I didn’t want hurt anyone. I mean, what’s the point? I knew I had no chance of surviving. And the other Tributes, I mean, most of them weren’t bad people. It’s not like they wanted to hurt anyone either. I didn’t have a lot of choices in the Games. But I could choose not to hurt anyone.”

“It was very upsetting for you to see people hurt in the Games,” Deaton says, and Scott feels his stomach drop, because he knows he’s talking about the District 11 Tributes. “Your District partner was one thing, but you never had any interaction with Vernon Boyd or Erica Reyes before they died. Why did their deaths upset you so much?”

Scott finds himself choking back tears at the memory. “Why wouldn’t I be upset? They were children. They were brutally murdered. And for what? Some stupid TV show? I know...I know we’ve all grown up seeing it. I know most people are used to it, but we shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t just get used to it. We shouldn’t just accept it.”

Deaton waits for Scott to say something else, but Scott can’t think of anything else to add and wipes his eyes quickly, careful not to smear the makeup.

“If you could say one thing to the people in the Capitol, to the people in the Districts, what would it be?” Deaton asks, not looking down at the paper in his hands.

Scott doesn’t know. What could he possibly say? What would they want to hear from him?

“Take your time,” Deaton says.

“I-” Scott says, and then turns to look directly into the camera at Deaton’s silent urging. “I don’t know, I...I just...I don’t understand...it doesn’t have to be this way. Making kids kill each other, as entertainment? Letting people starve or die of sickness in the Districts while there’s more than enough food in the Capitol? _Why_?”

“Because they can,” Deaton responds, something cold in his expression. “And they’re not going to stop. Not unless we do something.”

“No, I know,” Scott says, swallowing. He clutches the fabric of his gray trousers with sweaty palms, heart beating rapidly in his chest. “We can’t let this happen anymore. We have to stop it.”

“We have fight back,” Deaton says, giving Scott a pointed look.

“We have to fight back,” Scott repeats, looking back into the camera again, though even as he says it he feels cold at the knowledge of what war will mean. How many people will die because of this revolution. “It...this has to end. Things can’t keep going on like this. It’s not right and it’s not fair, living like this.”

It seems anti-climactic, but he doesn’t know what else to say. It just seems so obvious. Everyone knows this already. The Capitol knows this. They just don’t care. He doesn’t think saying how wrong he finds their government is going to convince anyone to change things.

He turns to look at the people behind the glass. “Look, I don’t know what else there is to say. Can I go?”

The people glance at each other and then the intercom crackles to live. “We’ve got what we need, Soldier McCall. You’re free to leave.”

Soldier McCall. Already.

“Thanks,” Scott tells Deaton as they leave the Production Room and make their way to the elevator. “For not asking about...you know.”

Technically he brought up the District 11 Tributes, but he didn’t press, not like the interviewers in the Capitol did about all the newly crowned Victor’s kills. Scott doesn’t think he could have handled that. He didn’t bring up Allison or Isaac at all. Or Stiles. Really, it was a lot better than expected.

“You did fine,” Deaton says, though he still looks slightly ill. “They really just need to show you’re alive.”

Also, the fact that Scott was hardly the most interesting of the five escaped Tributes is definitely a factor. Even Isaac was in the Production room longer than Scott. This knowledge makes him feel a little better. It’s unlikely they’ll ever ask him to film him again.

Scott tries to go back down to Allison's and Isaac's compartment, but the hallways start filling with people for lunch and he follows the crowd down to the dining hall instead. He's one of the first people to get his food, so he sits at their assigned table and pokes at his boiled beets listlessly.

“Hello, Scott,” his father says carefully, sitting down across the table from him, but not directly in front of him. “How was filming?”

“Short,” Scott replies tersely.

Scott's father just nods and takes a bite out of his slice of thick bread. He still looks sort of wan, even though he's been here for weeks. Alcohol is forbidden in 13, and according to his mom his dad had a hard time quitting cold turkey. Scott has very little sympathy for him.

Fortunately, Deaton arrives before it gets too awkward, and then Lydia, Allison, and Isaac. Scott's mom can usually only come at the end to quickly scarf down her lunch before getting back to the hospital, and Scott's glad of it now. He doesn't want her to ask how it went.

They eat their lunch in silence, but when they're waiting for the elevator to go back to their rooms, a soldier in black stops them and informs them they're needed back in the Remake Room.

They want to take some sort of group shot of them and no one protests, but the rage emanating from everyone else is palpable. They retouch their makeup, and to Scott's great discomfort, dress them up in black soldier's uniforms, complete with fake guns. Then they arrange them in front of cameras, arguing among themselves about which arrangement looks the best. Allison and Cora stand stiffly, appearing to be restraining themselves from snapping, while Lydia lets the Capital rebels move her this way and that like she has no opinion on this production one way or another. Isaac won't let any of them touch him, jerking back angrily as they try to position him, and Scott tries to be as cooperative as possible to make up for their bad behavior, even though he feels his patience wearing thin after half an hour under the bright lights.

He expects Lydia to be the focal point of the shot, but to his surprise all of them are more or less on equal ground. He ends up next to Lydia in the middle and tries to comply with the requests of the woman behind the camera to look alert, serious, and uncompromising at the same time. They have the hardest time getting Lydia to not look bored out of her mind (they apparently have no problem with Allison, Isaac, and Cora looking furious) and finally they deem the shot acceptable and turn giant fans on them to simulate wind while they film them. Thankfully they do not have to say anything.

“Alright, that's a wrap!” the woman with the jagged haircut calls, which apparently means they're done.

They change back into their gray clothes in the Remake Room, Scott's cheeks burning with the lack of privacy even though it goes a lot quicker than when they were putting them on, and they all trudge to the elevator in silence.

“If I wake up tomorrow and find another day of this on my schedule I’m going to strangle someone,” Cora says dully, too tired to put much anger into it.

“It looked like they were finished,” Scott says, even though he has no way of knowing. He turns to Lydia “What about you? Did they say anything about tomorrow?”

Lydia frowns at him. “No...why?”

“I mean, you started this whole thing,” Scott says. “I figured they’d focus it mostly on you.”

Cora snorts with laughter. “Yeah, right. They’ve been doing the group thing for a reason. She’s way too 1 for them to be a proper symbol.”

“For which I am eternally grateful,” Lydia says disdainfully, turning away from Scott to stare at the front of the elevator.

“Really?” Scott says, glancing at Allison and Isaac for confirmation. He guesses that makes sense. A ruthless Career from the District most similar to the Capitol itself, Lydia is unlikely to appeal to anyone District 5 and beyond.

“Believe me, they would have much preferred you or 7 blowing up the Arena,” Cora tells him coolly, and Scott grimaces while Isaac shoots her a glare. It’s really annoying how she pretends not to know their names.

The elevator stops at Level 5 and Scott follows Allison and Isaac back to their compartment, collapsing on their bed with a groan.

“We had better not have to do that again,” Isaac says bad temperedly, kicking off his shoes and sitting down next to Scott. “What a joke. They actually think anyone’s going to be inspired by us playing dress-up?”

The bed dips slightly at Scott's feet, Allison sitting down against the wall, but she doesn't say anything.

“Well, we're done with it now,” Scott says bracingly, rolling over onto his side to look at Isaac.

“So they say,” Isaac mutters. “And now they're going to give us jobs. That'll be something to look forward to.”

“It's probably better than doing nothing all day,” Scott says, raising his head to ask if Allison's okay, but the sight of her causes his words to die in his throat.

She's sitting with her back against the wall at the foot of the bed, legs up with her arms around them defensively, glaring down at her knees, jaw clenched. She still has yet to say a word since her interview this morning.

Isaac looks over at her as well and opens his mouth, but Scott grabs his leg and gives him a warning look.

Isaac scoffs, “Fine,” and lies down next to Scott.

He presses his face into Scott's neck and clutches his waist, hands trembling.

Scott blinks at this reaction and wraps his arms around him, taken aback by the sudden change in mood. Isaac doesn't say anything and doesn't surface from his neck. Scott lies back on the pillow and tries to block out the uncomfortable gnawing sensation in his gut. That this isn't right. That he can't make it right.

They might be done filming them, but no one will ever be able to forget who they are. Everyone will always be staring at them. They'll always be the Tributes that escaped from the Arena. It's all they'll ever be allowed to be. They'll never escape the Games.

Obviously, Scott thinks scornfully, tightening his grip on Isaac's waist. What a stupid thing to worry about, especially when there's a war going on. What's done is done. He has to move on, not torment himself with things he can't change. How selfish, deluded, is he to worry about how other people see him? He'd be dead if 13 hadn't rescued him- he doesn’t get to whine about how they want him to help the war effort. He owes them his life, his mother's life, Isaac and Allison's lives, how ungrateful of him t-

Allison jolts abruptly at the end of the bed, pushing herself off the wall and crawling up the bed to press herself to Scott's back. She lies very still, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt over his back, and he feels her lean her forehead against the nape of his neck, breath warming his skin. He twists his head to try to look back at her, but he can’t see much except out of the corner of his eye, so he turns back to Isaac, trying to calm his nerves. His stomach feels like it’s staging a revolt and he feels like he might vibrate out of his skin, cold fear tightening in his chest. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to forestall a panic attack that would inevitably turn into an asthma attack.

Everything is fine, he tells himself, despairing at his lack of emotional control. Things are so much better than they were a week ago, why can’t he get a hold of himself? This is pathetic, he needs to get over it, why is he so wea-

Isaac lifts his head from his neck and Scott opens his eyes automatically to see him looking worriedly down at him.

“Scott?” he says, looking anxious.

Scott doesn’t trust himself to speak and twitches his lips in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile. Unsurprisingly, Isaac does not look convinced, so Scott reaches up with shaking hands to pull him down by the collar of his shirt so that their foreheads are pressed to one another. Isaac’s hands tighten on Scott’s waist and Scott shudders, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Scott?” Isaac whispers, and Scott _hates_ feeling like this, trapped and sick and anxious, he can’t stand it, why can’t he just stop?

Isaac’s hands cup his cheeks and he kisses him, hard. Scott opens his eyes as he draws back, Isaac panting desperately. Scott reaches up to touch his cheek and Isaac leans in to kiss him again, tongue slipping into his mouth. Scott kisses back mindlessly, putting his other hand on Isaac’s back to steady him and Isaac gasps into his mouth.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, breaking away from Scott’s mouth to kiss his ear.

“Wh-What?” Scott says, tilting his neck back to give Isaac better access.

“I need you in me,” Isaac hisses, pressing the front of his body against Scott’s and grinding. “You should...you should fuck me.”

Scott moans quietly at the thought of it and his eyes widen as Isaac pulls back suddenly to take off his shirt. He tries to sit up, but Allison tightens her hold on him, pressing her face into his back.

“Hey,” Scott says, trying to turn back to look at her again. “Allison, are you-”

She releases him abruptly and slides her hands under his shirt. Scott raises his arms over his head so she can pull it off and rolls onto his back to look up at her. She has a set, determined expression on her face as she looks down at him briefly and then looks up at Isaac.

“Get the lube,” she tells him. “It’s in my drawer.”

“Where’d you get it?” Isaac says, kicking off his underwear and walking over to her chest of drawers completely naked. He pulls out a small white tube of something and eyes it thoughtfully.

“From the hospital,” Allison replies and hooks her fingers in the waistband of Scott’s pants.

“You stole it?” Isaac snorts, coming to sit down next to Scott again. “I didn’t know you cared about my ass so much.”

Allison ignores him, her attention on Scott as she pulls down his trousers. Scott feels a sudden shock of affection for her and kisses her fiercely, shuddering as she take a hold of his dick.

Isaac groans and leans in against Scott's back, the raised scars on his chest causing Scott to gasp just as much as the feel of his dick against the small of his back.

Allison breaks away from his mouth and looks over his shoulder at Isaac, breathing heavily. “Need some help there?” she asks coolly.

“‘m good,” Isaac grunts, exhaling sharply against Scott's bare shoulder. Scott turns to see his right hand working behind him and feels himself go bright red as he realizes what he's doing. He's putting his _fingers_ in his-?!

“Um, why are you…” Scott asks, turned on for reasons he really doesn't understand. Isaac looks great naked, long and pale, flushed dick jutting out between his legs, but Scott doesn't understand why he's putting his fingers... _there_.

“Stretching,” Isaac says, grinding back on his fingers and Scott's throat goes suddenly very dry at the flushed pleasure on his face. “This is great lube, though, do I want to know what it's really for?”

“Probably not,” Allison replies carelessly, kissing Scott's neck and giving his dick a firm stroke. “Toss it here.”

Isaac throws her the small white tube, and Scott watches as she squeezes some of the clear insides onto her hand and rubs her palm together, shifting on the bed in near painful arousal. Allison smirks when she notices, and leans close, wrapping a shiny hand around his dick again. Scott hisses a bit at the cold, but then groans at the smooth glide of her hand.

“ _Oh_ , that's-” he gasps, gripping Allison's shoulder to steady himself. He's completely naked while she's clothed, and for some reason that makes him dizzy with desire.

“ _Hey_ ,” Isaac says, sounding annoyed.

“What?” Scott says distractedly, glancing over at him.

Isaac shifts closer to him on the bed, smoothing a hand down his chest and leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against the side of Scott's face

“Can-can you…” he says, shy all of the sudden.

“Yeah,” Scott breathes, transfixed by the pretty flush in Isaac's cheeks.

Isaac moves back and grins, but before Scott can reach out to kiss him he turns over on his hands and knees.

Scott blinks at the scarred expanse of his back and the slight shine of lube between his legs. Why is he...like _that_?

“Here,” Allison says, tugging at him so he sits up on his knees and pushes him in the direction of Isaac's lower body.

Scott puts his hand on Isaac's hip, but can't quite make himself move directly behind him. He doesn't want...not like this, like animals, it feels weird, wrong, why is he-

“Scott,” Isaac whines, moving his hips from side to side tantalizingly.

“I don't,” Scott says, even though he's pretty sure he's never been so hard in his life. “Can you turn over?”

Isaac glances back over his shoulder in confusion. “What?”

“I mean, can I see your face?” Scott asks feeling like he might combust in embarrassment.

“Okay…” Isaac says dubiously, rolling over onto his back.

Scott feels intensely awkward leaning down over him, but then they're kissing and Isaac is hauling him on top of him, hands sliding down to grab his bottom.

Scott feels hot all over as Isaac groans under him, spreading his legs and wrapping them around his hips.

“Ngh, _Isaac_ ,” Scott grits out, head dropping down in response to the wave of pleasure that rolls through him at the drag of Isaac's dick against his.

“Yeah,” Isaac breathes, arching back against the mattress in pleasure. “C'mon, _Scott_ , I need, can you-”

“Yeah,” Scott responds immediately, humbled by the trust in him, even as a twinge of fear sparks in him at the worry that trust might not be deserved. Is he really doing this? What if he hurts him?

“I'm not sure,” he says nervously, stilling and looking down at Isaac's flushed face helplessly. “I mean, I don't know how to…”

“S’okay, it's easy,” Isaac groans, spreading his legs wider. Scott shudders as his dick comes into contact with Isaac's testicles and then lower, where it's wet and warm. Isaac reaches down, grabbing his dick and positioning it at his opening. “Just, c'mon…”

Scott aches to thrust forward, dick twitching against warm slickness, but he restrains himself.

“Um, are you sure you want to…?” he asks, arms shaking as he holds himself over Isaac.

“Yes!” Isaac snarls, pulling Scott in with his thighs, and Scott moans as the head of his dick slides inside him.

It's shockingly hot and tight, and Scott has to grit his teeth to prevent himself from spending immediately. Isaac doesn't give him any time to adjust and keeps pulling him forward until he's buried in him up to the hilt, making low grunting noises in the back of his throat.

Scott pants for breath, looking down between them and then very quickly away because the sight of his dick inside Isaac is obscenely attractive. Isaac hisses and squirms around him uncomfortably.

“Is it...is it okay?” Scott asks, so overheated he's finding it difficult to string together words. He looks carefully at Isaac's red face, fighting the base urge to thrust.

“What?” Isaac says, continuing to shift. “No, it's...I don't usually do it this way. Face to face.”

Scott feels his stomach drop. “Am I...am I hurting you?” he whispers, anxiety rising in his chest.

“What?” Isaac says again, looking up at him in confusion, still squirming. “ _No_ , I need you to move...can you…”

He starts rocking his hips up and Scott can't help but start to move as well, everything narrowing down to the tight heat of Isaac's body, the sound of his low grunts.

Sweat drip down Scott's chin and falls onto Isaac's cheek. “Sorry,” Scott gasps, letting go of Isaac's hip to wipe his face with the back of his shaking hand.

Isaac lets out a strangled laugh, reaching down to stroke his dick. “C'mon, harder,” he tells Scott, clutching the headboard of the bed for leverage.

Scott complies, his abdominal muscles tightening up, but Isaac doesn't stop talking.

“Yeah, c'mon, give it to me,” he groans, stroking himself shamelessly. “C'mon, Scott, just fucking, I need it, _please_ -”

Scott chokes, the words reverberating through his head, like a physical presence on his skin. Isaac smirks up at him and it's the only warning he gets before his muscles squeeze around him and Scott spends with a sharp cry.

His vision goes blurry and he collapses forward onto Isaac's chest, pleasure still zinging through every nerve.

Isaac hisses and squirms under him for a second before he lets out a loud gasp and warm wetness splatters onto Scott's chest.

Part of Scott feels like he could fall asleep right here, but he carefully pulls out of Isaac's body ( _cold!_ ) and lifts himself off him, tipping over to his right.

He pants into the pillow for a moment, familiar tightness building in his chest. He slows his breathing and thankfully it dissipates after a minute.

“Was that-was that okay?” he asks looking up at Isaac, still lying unmoving on his back, legs akimbo. Allison has pressed herself to his other side and is kissing his jaw, one leg hooked over his hip.

“Uh huh,” Isaac says without opening his eyes, twisting to give Allison more access to his neck. “Are you serious, woman, give me a minute.”

“Is this the limit of your stamina?” Allison asks, mouth twisting in amusement as she continues to rub herself up against his hip, trailing her hands across the places on his torso not wet with semen. There is a slight strain to her voice, despite her affectation of coolness.

Isaac's eyes snap open to glare up at her. “Oh, I'll show you stamina.”

He pulls her on top of him and they kiss furiously, Allison rocking her hips insistently against Isaac's bent knee. She pulls his hands to her breasts, but Isaac twists one out of her grip and shoves it down the front of her trousers.

Allison freezes, eyes snapping open to stare down at an indeterminate spot on the mattress next to Isaac's shoulder.

“Uh,” Isaac says slowly, stilling as well. “Sorry, I…” He takes his hand out of her trousers. “I forgot.”

Allison slowly raises her eyes from the mattress. There is absolutely no expression on her face as she tips back to Isaac's side.

“Uh,” Isaac says, reaching out for her arm before apparently thinking better of it and drawing back his hand. “Do you want me to go down on you?”

“I’m fine,” Allison says, very calmly, but Scott doesn’t think she is.

He pulls up the sheets over his body, with difficulty, as Allison and Isaac are lying on top of them. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyeing her carefully.

“Yes,” Allison says shortly, dropping her head down on Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac looks down at her with trepidation, and then glances at Scott helplessly. Scott, feeling exhaustion press in on him, curls close to his neck, breathing in his scent.

He thinks he did okay, right? Isaac seemed satisfied. Neither of them seem to expect much of him, though, because of his inexperience. The thought makes something in him twinge in discomfort. He doesn’t like the idea of burdening them with his inadequacy. He likes to think that they’d tell him if he was doing something wrong, but…

“Okay, I’m getting cold,” Isaac says, bringing his legs up to tuck them under the sheets.

“You should probably clean up,” Scott says, wincing at the semen on his stomach.

“These sheets are already going in the wash, the wet spot I’m lying in can attest to that,” Isaac says unconcernedly, wriggling under the covers. On his other side, Allison puts out an arm to steady him, clinging to his side tightly.

The wet spot. From Scott’s semen leaking out of his...and he’s fine with that? Scott had never even considered how weird that would feel.

“So,” Isaac says, turning towards him, one arm around Allison’s shoulders. “How does not being a virgin feel?”

“Uh, goo-good,” Scott stutters, feeling shy at being described as such. “I...it was really good.”

Isaac grins. “ _Yeah_ , it was,” he says and leans in to kiss Scott.

Scott responds and then rest his cheek on the mattress next to Isaac’s shoulder, looping an arm over his waist. He thinks he’ll take a nap until dinner.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but when he opens his eyes next Allison and Isaac are kissing again, Allison naked on top, grinding against Isaac’s knee. He watches as she breaks away from Isaac’s mouth, her expression contorting, and moans quietly, body stiffening as the movement of her hips quickens. Isaac runs a hand through her dark hair as she sags down on top of him and rolls her over so that she’s lying between the two of them. Scott reaches out to touch her waist and Allison grunts, rolling onto her back.

“Are you going give me a hand?” Isaac hisses in frustration, gripping his dick.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Allison replies pointedly, rolling onto her side to face him and propping her head up with her arm in one smooth motion,

Isaac flushes even further and Scott feels a shiver go through him at her words as well. He doesn’t know why it’s so attractive when Allison says things like that, but it makes him feel hot all over. Doubly so when she raises her eyebrows at Isaac expectantly.

Isaac seems to agree, by the way he mutters, “Um, yeah,” and take his hand off his dick.

Scott’s mouth goes dry as she smirks and reaches down to stroke him, kissing his neck. Isaac wraps an arm around her side and presses his nose into her hair as he thrusts into her hand. It doesn’t take long for him to spend and when he does, he slumps into her arms, face going slack.

Scott scoots over, needing to be close to them, but Allison rolls over instead, pulling Isaac with her. Scott rests his chin on her shoulder, looking at her face carefully, reaching out to put his palm on the center of Isaac’s back.

Allison grimaces. “We really need to wash these sheets.”

Isaac snorts with laughter against her hair and Scott smiles, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. Her face is free from tension now, but Scott files away that she doesn’t like surprises in the back of his mind.

She reaches out to scratch a nail lightly down his cheek, scowling down at the makeup that comes away on her finger. “They made you the wrong color,” she says, showing him her nail.

“I think it’s just for the camera,” Scott says, putting his hand tentatively on her stomach. “Something about the lights, I think.”

“It’s looks weird,” she says, looking annoyed at his stylist’s choice of makeup, for no reason Scott can understand. “You look too pale.”

“Maybe they just ran out of the right color,” Scott says, feeling a little self-conscious. He thought it looked nice.

They get out of bed and take the sheets to the Laundry after a couple minutes, trying not to seem too obvious about what they were doing, though luckily there are very few people in the halls to give them odd looks. There are several machines going in the Laundry, but it’s empty, and since their underwear isn’t exactly clean, they throw them in as well and sit at the rickety table in the corner until their laundry is clean and dry. By the time they get back to Allison and Isaac’s room the large clock on the wall reads 19:04, so they go to dinner.

Deaton and his parents both give him worried looks when he sets his tray down at their table, but thankfully they don’t press when he tells them it went fine and he’s okay. Halfway through his minced venison stew, Kira comes by his table with another girl in tow.

“Hi, Scott,” she says genuinely with a shy wave. “I just wanted to introduce you to Malia. She came here around the same time I did, from District 4.”

“Malia Tate,” the girl says shortly. She is a head taller than Kira and has short brown hair and dark brown eyes.

“From 4?” Isaac says, eyeing the girl skeptically. “You a rebel?”

“No,” Malia says with an uncomfortable scowl. “Peter Hale’s my father. Apparently.”

“‘Apparently?’” Lydia repeats, glancing up from her food at her.

“Biologically. I was adopted,” Malia says with a shrug. “But he thought I still might be a target.” Her scowl deepens. “He’s kind of a dick.”

Lydia snorts with laughter, but doesn’t say anything else, even when they all look at her in confusion.

“There’s not really a lot of people our age here,” Kira says, looking hopeful. “Though they are going to be some new people from 10 coming in tomorrow, I think. So we just wanted to say hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Scott says to Malia, before anyone else can say anything rude-he can just _feel_ it coming. “I’m not really sure what we’re going to be doing, like, job-wise. But maybe we’ll be working together?”

“Yeah, we’re all going to be taking the placement test in a couple days,” Kira says. “We’ve been here for a couple weeks now, but they were waiting for a large enough group of people to all take it together. So until then we’ve mostly been taking classes and doing small jobs like dish duty and janitorial work.”

“Placement test?” Scott says, remembering his mother mentioning it when he first got here. “About...I mean, I don’t know anything about nuclear power.”

“Oh, no, it’s not about anything specific,” Kira reassures him. “It’s just math and language. To test how smart you are, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Scott says, not feeling much better about it.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Lydia says, without even the pretense of modesty. “Do you know what kind of jobs they have open?”

“Well, they’re training a lot of people to be soldiers, so that’s always open, but other than that I don’t really know,” Kira says. “My dad’s teaching, because that’s what he used to do back at home, and my mother’s working with Intelligence. But I’m guessing everything’s going to be related to the war effort.”

“Okay,” Scott says.

“I just want to take the stupid test and get it over with,” Malia says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have no idea how boring mopping floors is.”

“Well, we’d better get back to our table,” Kira says, glancing back the way she came. “It was nice to see you all. Bye, Scott.”

“Bye,” Scott says, and downs the rest of his cup of milk before turning to glance at his mom. “What’s the test like?”

“Oh, it was...pretty difficult,” Scott’s mother says, looking slightly discouraged. “But they take into account your background too when they assign you a job. I don’t think you’d have any trouble getting into the hospital.”

“Okay,” Scott says, wishing there was some way he could prepare for the test. He’d never really been that good at school. He always had a hard time breathing in that dimly lit stuffy classroom for seven hours, stomach grumbling most days. And coal was so, _so_ boring. Stiles could never sit still, and their teachers always figured out that the best way to control him was to make Scott do it, so Scott couldn’t always pay attention to the lecture. After Stiles died, Scott stopped even trying. It didn’t matter how good his grades were, after all. He’d known what his fate was going to be.

It’s weird, Scott thinks, lying in bed that night. He always thought losing his virginity would make him...different somehow. He didn’t really feel any different. More...excited to do it again than anything.

He grins in the dark, hugging his pillow into his chest. It was good, _amazing_ , like it always was with the two of them. And however the test goes, they’ll all get jobs and be together. Everything is going to work out.

 

* * *

 

Scott spends the next couple days alternating by doing odd jobs around 13 and taking new arrival orientations classes with the District 10 arrivals. He doesn’t mind the work, even though he gets split up from Allison and Isaac more often than not and some of the chemicals from the floor cleaning solution they want him to use make his head ache after a while. It’s good to keep busy, and he gets the chance to work with Kira and Cora, not that the latter is remotely inclined to talk with him at all. The classes about the history of 13 are fascinating and engaging-Scott really likes how the teacher uses charts and pictures projected on the wall in front of the classroom by a small machine on the ceiling to illustrate his lecture.

“What does your dad teach?” Scott asks Kira after the teacher announces the end of the class and they all move on to the next item on their schedules.

“Solar panel development and maintenance,” Kira replies, maneuvering around the shiny white classroom tables towards the door. “Apparently, 13 is pretty behind the curve. He would love this class though, he’s really interested in history.”

“Why are they bothering teaching us about their history, though?” Isaac asks, almost bumping into one of the new District 10 arrivals on the way out the door. Despite the fact that they are all wearing the same gray clothes, the 10’s stick out like sore thumbs. They’re about as short and skinny as people from 12, but they all have light brown or blond hair and are very tan from working in the sun. They walk incredibly slowly in the hallways, and already Scott’s heard some of the citizens of 13 complaining about their lack of punctuality.

“How can we understand the present if we don’t understand the past?” Kira asks, waiting patiently as a group of 10’s amble slowly into the elevator. “It’s good to understand where they’re coming from now that we all live here.”

Isaac doesn’t look convinced, glancing skeptically at Allison, who doesn’t seem to have an opinion on the matter.

“It’s better than washing dishes,” Lydia says irritably. “You’d think they’d get a move on with that test. They’re wasting our time with menial drudgery.”

Normally Scott would be irritated at her superior attitude, but today he gives her a pass. They’re all a little on edge, after all, because of the 13:30--The Collective on their schedules after lunch. It’s the presentation of their propo, Deaton informed them at breakfast this morning, as well as the formal introduction of them to the entire District, even though they’ve already been here for two weeks. They’re all nervous about it, but Lydia especially has reason to be tense. The entirety of Panem will eventually see it, be reminded that _she_ sparked the revolution by escaping the Games. She will actively be assisting the revolution. There will be no going back.

Not that going back would have been an option before the filming of the propo. But with her parents still missing, Scott knows that drawing further attention to herself can only put them in more danger.

Scott’s next assignment is to transport frozen food from the food stores to the kitchen to restock the freezers with Isaac and Cora, and by the time they’re finished lunch is in full swing.

“Hey,” Scott says, flopping down in his seat in exhaustion. He didn’t think wheeling large carts up and down hallways to and from the elevator would be a lot of work, but it took a surprising amount of muscle strength to steer.

“Are you okay?” Kira asks him. She and Malia are sitting at their table today, at the other end from the adults, and it’s kind of nice spending time with other people, even if Lydia and Malia get along about just as well as Lydia and Cora do. Scott has no idea how they survive rooming together.

“Just tired,” Scott says, scooping a large spoonful of mashed potatoes and cabbage in his mouth. He hunches over a little, kind of embarrassed by the sweat stains under his arms. He should probably go back to his compartment and change into his spare shirt before lunch is over.

He feels Allison’s eyes on him, but she doesn’t say anything. They eat their lunch mostly in silence, Kira trying and failing to start a conversation a couple times, and then Scott heads back up to his compartment to change his shirt. The halls and elevator are empty as he makes his way to the Collective and he hears the amplified voice of President Calavera even before he turns the corner and sees the large white doors leading to a large cavernous room, lit by many yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling instead of 13 usual white fluorescents. President Calavera stand at the back of the room on a raised stage behind a podium and microphone, and there’s a large makeshift screen set up behind her, to show the propo, Scott realizes. The guards at the door glare at Scott reprovingly as he slips inside the room, looking around for familiar faces in a sea of gray, but he can’t make any out. There’s a group in white to the left side of the room, doctors and mobile patients-they’d even brought people here on stretchers, really?-and Scott maneuvers between the crowd in their direction, apologizing for blocking their view under his breath. After a minute he spots his mother next to an elderly man in a wheelchair and comes to stand at her side.

“Hey,” he whispers, touching her shoulder gently.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she whispers back, hooking her arm around his.

“-and with the airing of this clip, we will show the Districts that it is possible to defy the Capitol, that the escaped Tributes are alive and have joined our cause,” the president is saying, voice harsh with determination. “No longer will they heed the Capitol’s lies. They will rise up and join us! For freedom! For justice! For equality!”

She raises her fist in the air and the crowd copies her, letting out a shout of agreement, too uniform and short-lasting to be called a cheer. Scott nearly jumps at the unexpected sound, looking around uncertainly at the people around him, the blind devotion on their faces startling him.

When he looks back to the stage the president is stepping off it and the lights go dim. Scott’s mother tightens her arm around his and Scott swallows, feeling his heart rate increase against his breastbone. This is it.

White words appear on the screen first.

 

The Capitol told you they were dead…

 

A shot from the Games, right before they escaped. Lydia raising her arrow at the wall, the rest of them staring at her in confusion.

“This is done,” she shouts, even angrier than Scott remembers her being. “I am _ending this_.”

The arrow flies and Allison shouts “GET DOWN!” tackling him out of the way (is that really what he looked like, he looks _terrible_ ) before an explosion fills the screen, which then goes black.

More white words:

 

...but they lied.

 

Lydia sits primly in her seat in the Production Room, looking straight into the camera. “My name is Lydia Martin,” she says calmly. “I’m alive and well in District 13.”

The screen flashes to Cora who scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “They tried to kill us and they failed,” she says, looking slightly off camera. “We survived and now they’re going to pay.”

Allison is next, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “I didn’t want to kill Scott,” she says, sounding irritated. “So I didn’t.” All of the sudden she’s in a slightly different position-two pieces of film have been edited together. “Just because they tell you to do something doesn’t mean you should do it.”

“Look, none of us actually wanted to be there,” Isaac says, slumping back against his seat, but Scott can tell by the tightness in his jaw that he’s not as unaffected as he’s clearly trying to pretend. “They always play it like we’re all in it for the glory or whatever, but we just wanted to live. And if you want to live you have to fight.”

Scott feels his face go hot as his own face is projected on the screen next.

“I’m Scott,” his image says, looking pale and a little startled. His voice sounds strange through the speakers. “Scott McCall. From District 12.” Another edit and his face takes on a strained quality. “I know most people are used to it, but we shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t just get used to it. We shouldn’t just accept it.”

A second edit, and Scott thinks he’s going to be sick. He wants to look away, but he can’t. Why is his face still up there?

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” his image continues shakily, jaw tightening. “Making kids kill each other, as entertainment? Letting people starve or die of sickness in the Districts while there’s more than enough food in the Capitol? _Why_?”

Mercifully the screen goes black, replacing his trembling expression with white words.

 

They won’t stop. Not unless we make them.

 

Then there’s the shot of them all together, dressed up in black soldier uniforms, wind tousling their hair, expressions serious. The background is not the black walls of the Production Room, but a war torn battlefield, like the ones the Capitol uses in their propos about the first rebellion. Seeing it from this angle, Scott is startled to realize the both he and Lydia are the clear focal point of the shot.

“We can’t let this happen anymore. We have to stop it,” his voice rings out over the image.“We have to fight back.”

 

Join The Rebellion.

Fight Back.

 

The screen goes black, but Scott continues to stare at it as the crowd lets out a shout of approval around him, his own heartbeat so loud in his ears it almost drowns them out.

His mother puts her hand on his shoulder and he hears her saying something, but he can’t make it out.

What...what was that? Why was he...it was supposed to be about _Lydia_ , not him, why was he in it more than the rest of them _combined_? He feels nauseous, like he might be sick, and he swallows down against the knot in his throat, trying to breathe steadily.

“Scott,” his mother says, sounding very far away. “Are you okay?”

He turns to look at her, speechless, and becomes suddenly aware of the patients and doctors around them staring at him. President Calavera is back at the podium saying something, but Scott can’t pay attention to what she’s saying.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing back a tremor. He feels dizzy almost, like the room is suddenly brighter than it was a second ago. His face feels very hot and he forces himself to take slow breaths to forestall an asthma attack. His mother tightens her grip on his shoulder, but Scott suddenly can’t stand the attention any long and slips out from under her hand and makes his way through the crowd back to the entrance of the Collective.

One of the guards calls out after him as he exits the room, but Scott ignores them and walks quickly down the hallway and around the corner to the elevator. He goes back up to his compartment on Level 3 and sits down miserably on the edge of his bed.

He can’t rationalize why he feels this way. It’s not...it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not real, physical, just...just propaganda. Centered around him. Cora was more right than she knew; 13 really did not like the fact that Lydia is from District 1. But why couldn’t they have used Isaac…

Because Isaac hadn’t done what he did. Isaac hadn’t told the whole world of his refusal to participate in the Games, tried to save as many fellow Tributes as he could. Scott isn’t a fighter, but his refusal to fight makes him the closest thing to a rebel 13 has.

Scott lets out a bitter snort and slumps further in defeat. He should have seen this coming.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Closest thing to a rebel or not, he still isn’t much of one considering he’d spent most of his Games avoiding fights and trying to convince others to do the same. They couldn’t want to make another propo with that kind of attitude, could they? Not when they had popular victors like Derek Hale and Jennifer Blake.

Thinking that doesn’t help. He replays the propo in his mind, misery tightening in his chest. It was just so...humiliating, seeing himself up there. He never wanted that kind of attention, how could this be his life now? Just three months ago he was helping his mother treat a nasty cough that was spreading around the Seam, most patients simply referring to him as Mrs. McCall’s boy. Now the entirety of Panem knew his name.

After a couple miserable moments the door opens and Scott looks up to see Allison and Isaac stepping into his compartment.

“Hey,” Isaac says, looking at him worriedly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott lies, offering him a reassuring smile.

Isaac comes to sit down next to him on the bed, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Your mother told us to tell you she wanted to come, but she had to go back to work,” Allison says, sitting at Scott’s other side.

“Okay.”

There is a pause, but Scott can’t think of what to say. He glances down at his left forearm. 14:00-- Kitchen Duties is up next and he knows he should probably get a move on or he’s going to be late.

“You don’t seem okay,” Isaac says, and even though Scott is looking down at his own lap he can feel Isaac’s eyes on him.

“No, I’m fine,” Scott says, but ducks his head self-consciously. “I just…”

“You were in it kinda a lot,” Isaac says. “They asked me a lot of questions about the Capitol and the Games, but they didn’t use any of it.”

“I guess they must have liked you,” Allison says quietly, and Scott holds back a flinch.

She puts her head down on his shoulder and he glances at the top of her head in surprise. She reaches out and clasps his left hand in her small pale ones.  

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott says, finding himself comforted by the small gesture. He takes a deep breath. “I think we’d better go, though.”

“Yeah,” Isaac says, and leans in to kiss Scott’s cheek.

Scott’s eyes slide shut and he swallows, turning his head towards Isaac to kiss him on the mouth. Isaac cups his face with one hand and responds fiercely for a second before pulling away and resting his forehead against Scott’s.

“You have Reflection at 18:00?” he asks, cabbage-smelling breath ghosting over Scott’s lips.

“Yeah,” Scott replies, smiling faintly.

“Come to our room then, okay?”

“Okay,” Scott says, and squeezes one of Allison’s hands. She lifts her head off his shoulder and reaches out to push his bangs to the side. He turns to smiles at her and she leans in to kiss him as well.

He’s going to be okay, he tells himself as people stare at him even more than usual as he makes his way down to the kitchen. If he thinks about everything he has, how lucky he is, he knows he’ll move past this.

In their compartment, later, they have sex again. Isaac on top of him, sinking down on Scott’s dick with a filthy grin while Scott throws his head back and clutches the sheets under him. Halfway through Allison leans over him, kissing his face, his neck, gripping his hair and Scott feels utterly surrounded, penned in, _safe_. He can arch upwards to meet them, but not much, they _have_ him, and in the moment Scott can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

He’s so overcome he almost has an asthma attack when he spends, feeling dizzy and disoriented, and somehow very small. He finds himself choking back a sob when Allison pulls him into her arms, stroking his back and through his hair while he trembles, ridiculously grateful for the comfort. He presses his nose into her neck and clutches her waist, trying not to let the desperate sounds in the back of his throat make their way out of his mouth.

“Feeling better?” Isaac murmurs into his ear, pressing up against his back.

Scott smiles into Allison’s skin. “Yeah,” he whispers, and this time it’s really not a lie. Maybe it’s just temporary, but things seem much brighter now, here in this room with the two of them. The rest of the world seems very far away curled up in Allison’s arms, surrounded by her soft skin and hair, Isaac’s chest at his back and strong hand on his hip.

The Games are over, he tells himself firmly. The war has begun, and he knows he can weather it with food, clothing, and shelter, with his mother, and with Isaac and Allison. He’s safe.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel bad for the District 13 people in charge of making the propo. Lydia and Allison are objectively terrible people, Cora is just nasty, Isaac could not give less of a fuck, so they're like, well, I guess we're going with the pacifist. 
> 
> In other news, Isaac and Allison continue on their quest to debauch Scott in as many ways as possible, shocking no one, and Malia! Is a character now.
> 
> Please comment!


	13. The Exam

Scott is so nervous the night before the placement exam he can barely sleep. He knows there's nothing he can do, but he can't quiet his mind, increasingly implausible scenarios running through his head. What if he can't even answer a single question? What if he does so badly they won't let him work in the hospital? What if they kick him out?

After a night of tossing and turning in his bunk, Scott heads down to breakfast, chest painfully tight with anxiety. He's so nauseous he can't even eat half of his now almost comically large portion of stewed squash and fowl. Allison and Isaac both refuse when he offers it to them, but thankfully Malia happily takes the bowl off his hands. Scott does feel a little bad when he notices the rest of the table glaring at her as she slurps up the stew, though that might be because of her terrible manners. According to Kira, Malia grew up in an extremely remote area in 4, where she and her father ran a fishery. Apparently she didn't even go to school, just did her required coursework remotely, and therefore has had little contact with people other than her father in years.

“You'll do fine,” his mother reassures him as they return their dishes to the front of the dining hall. “Just remember that it's not the most important factor in job placement. They know you've worked with me for years, they'll definitely want you as a nurse.”

Will they, though? Scott thinks dubiously. When his mother first explained her duties as a nurse in the District 13 hospital, Scott was insulted on her behalf at how she was treated more like an assistant instead of a woman who'd spent over twenty years treating Seam miners and a good portion of the merchants when the apothecary fell short. But when she explained the vast differences in medicine and technology, Scott had to concede that her position made sense. She was undergoing a lot of training, though, the end was nowhere in sight, bringing up the question if the hospital would even want to put the effort into training another unpolished District 12 healer, more used to working with herbal tinctures and liniments than prescribing pills and conducting hours long invasive surgeries.

He bids his mother goodbye at the dining hall entrance and takes the elevator down to Level 11 with Isaac, Allison having returned to her compartment to brush her teeth. She is kind of obsessive about it actually, cleaning her teeth after every meal for fear that her teeth might rot as apparently District 13 doesn't have the same teeth cleaning machine she grew up with. She tried to get Isaac and him to brush their teeth as well, but Isaac flatly refused, claiming he'd had enough of it as it was mandatory at the community home he lived in in 7. Scott tried once to humor her, but the toothpaste tasted awful and his teeth didn't feel any cleaner. Occasionally people had problems with rotten or broken teeth in 12, but they were usually older or got something stuck between their molars. He doesn't really see the need for it, especially after learning that sugar and processed foods are the main cause of tooth decay and they don't have any of that in 13. Though the fact that a toothbrush and toothpaste were included in his requisition package when he first arrived clearly states what the frugal 13’s opinion on the matter is.

When they arrive at the room listed on their schedules, a couple Capitol rebels and one lone District 10 newcomer are waiting outside the door. They all look at Scott and Isaac curiously as they approach, like basically the entire District has been doing whenever Scott enters the room in the days since the propo aired. Scott's stomach twists and he feels himself beginning to sweat under his arms.

“Seriously, don't look so worried,” Isaac tells him, rather bemused by his anxiety. “It's not that big of a deal.”

“Are you good at taking tests?” Scott asks, leaning up against the wall behind a Capitol rebel with drooping purple hair.

“Yeah... _no_ ,” Isaac says with a snort. “School was never really my thing. I was pretty much only there for the girls.”

Despite his nervousness, Scott rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Carter was also kinda hot,” Isaac continues reminiscently. “I used to meet up with him behind the woodshed in 7th grade and-”

The door to the classroom opens, and a stern-looking woman with short black hair surveys the small group of people waiting outside the door before stepping back.

“Come inside,” she says curtly. “Don't touch your exam until I give the word.”

Scott follows the group ahead of him into a surprisingly large white room full of long tables. He gets a good seat at the front despite Isaac's obvious preference for seats in the back and looks down at the white packet and pencil sharpened to a perfect point in front of him nervously. The girls arrive shortly with more refugees from assorted Districts and then a large group of 10’s amble in thirty seconds before the clock at the front of the room reaches 8:00.

The instructor looks irritated and doesn't wait for them to reach their seats before she starts explaining the rules. Each question will have five possible answers, from which they will have to choose the correct choice. There is no time limit, but when finished they will stick their packet in the small machine sitting on the desk in front of the large white board which will record the time. Talking, leaving the room, and cheating are all forbidden.

Scott wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers and swallows as the instructor waits for the clock to turn to 8:04 before starting the test. He looks around at the other people, almost a hundred in total, and wonders what they would do if he just left the room right now.

Allison puts her hand on his knee and squeezes gently. “It's okay,” she tells him quietly. Beside her, Lydia is tapping her fingers on the tabletop impatiently, while Cora glares at her in annoyance and Kira straightens her packet nervously.

Scott gives her a queasy smile, but before he can respond the instructor tells them to open their packets, and to write their names and the time at the top before starting.

Scott's heart leaps into his throat as he opens the first page and picks up the pencil. He writes his name down shakily at the top, but when he moves down to write in the time he freezes.

Wednesday, August 23rd.

It's August already? he thinks numbly, pencil frozen over his paper. Had that much time really passed since the Games started in June? It didn't seem possible. His 17th birthday is in less than two weeks. How could he not have noticed? Their schedules didn't have the date on them, only the day of the week, but was it really not written anywhere else? Or had he just not noticed?

Next to him, Allison turns a page, and he’s jolted out of his thoughts. Right, he thinks taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the hours ahead. Here we go.

It is, as he guessed, completely horrible. The first part of the test involves words he’s never heard of and reading excerpts of stories he doesn’t recognize and answering in-depth questions about them. The spike of hope at the knowledge that he doesn’t have to write anything down, just circle the right answer, is short-lived when he realizes how little idea he has what he’s doing. He can narrow it down to two choices, but then he can’t decide between the two of them, so he just ends up guessing. By the time he gets to the second page he’s sweating through his shirt, his hands are shaking slightly and he feels like he might throw up his breakfast. Part of him wants to give up now, throw down his pencil and escape back to the safety of his compartment, but he forces himself to get a hold of himself. This isn’t that big of a deal, he tells himself furiously, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm his rapid heartbeat. Just do your best and get it over with.

Except that’s easier said than done. By the time Scott gets to the math section half the people in the room are already gone, including all his friends. Scott’s tempted to just give up and turn his test in unfinished, but he reminds himself that he’s always been good at math.

It goes okay for the first couple pages, but then letters start showing up in the problems. Solve for x? What does that mean? He ends up moving the numbers around so that the letter is alone on the left side of the equal sign, but he doubts that’s what they really want. Maybe each letter is supposed to mean something? The last page is full of shapes and incomprehensible symbols, and at that point he’s the last person in the room, so he just gives up and circles a couple random answers.  

His body aches when he stands up and makes his way to the end of the room towards the time stamp machine. The instructor looks up from the binder she’s been reading throughout the entire exam and watches him coolly as he sticks his paper in the machine.

12:38, it stamps on his paper in damning red ink. He puts his paper on the second of the two large stacks in front of the instructor and then slinks away from her judging stare. Lunch is in full swing, so there aren’t many people in the hallways to stare at him, and he’s able to make his way back to his compartment with no interference.

He lies down on his bed with a sigh and stares up at the bright light on the ceiling. He’d done terribly, he knows that, but at least it’s all over now. No matter the result, he’ll be assigned a job and he’ll do it to the best of his ability.

He should go to lunch now, but he has no appetite, and feeling like a failure, he pulls the blanket over his head and selfishly decides to wallow in self pity a little while longer. Exhausted from the exam, his eyelids droop and he drifts off, lacking the will to stay awake.

“-ott,” Allison says, shaking his shoulder. “Scott, wake up.”

Scott opens his faces and immediately grimaces at the piercing light. He glances upward to see Allison sitting next to him on the bed, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, making a face at the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Why didn't you come to lunch?” she asks him, running her hand down the back of his shirt.

“Tired,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“You upset about the test?” Isaac asks. He's standing behind Allison, looking down at Scott uncertainly.

Scott shrugs, though it doesn't really work out that well considering he's lying on his stomach. “I don't think I did too well,” he says and to his horror he finds himself on the verge of tears. What is wrong with him?! He was in the _Hunger Games_ and now he's crying over a test that probably won't make much of a difference in whatever low-skill job he was qualified for.

“Yeah, I just guessed on half the questions,” Isaac says. “We definitely didn't have tests like that back in 7.”

That does make him feel better, actually.

“They'll probably take the District you came from into account,” Allison says, rubbing up and down his back.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Isaac asks sharply.

Allison turns to look at him in confusion. “You just said you didn't have tests like that in school. Just because you don't do well on their test doesn't mean you're stupid. It just means you haven't learned what they're testing on.”

“Oh,” Isaac says after a pause, looking slightly taken aback at the realization that she wasn't making fun of him.

Her words don’t reassure Scott at all; instead they have the opposite effect, making him feel even worse than before. He knows he’s not stupid. But not doing well on their test means something even worse. He’s useless.

“Hey, Scott, it’s going to be okay,” Allison tells him softly, lying down next to him and stroking through his hair softly.

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says, giving her a smile and rolling onto his side to see them better.

“You shouldn’t have skipped lunch,” Allison tells him reprovingly, her fingers still massaging his scalp gently.

“I think I’ll survive,” Scott says, rolling his eyes up at her.

“You need to eat as much as possible, you’re too skinny,” she says with a frown, glancing down at his torso.

“Skipping one meal isn’t going to kill me,” Scott says, raising his eyebrows because _really_. He’s not that weak. He’s definitely improved in the short time since they first came to 13. A couple ribs are still showing, but the gauntness in his face has receded and his arms have filled out a little. Allison and Isaac are still skinny, but they don’t have that deadened look anymore. Also, he’s pretty sure Allison’s breasts have gotten bigger. So...there is that.

“So...we have the rest of the day off,” Isaac says, lips quirking upward in a smirk. “What should we do?”

Scott warms despite himself at the obvious desire in Isaac’s eyes, and he smirks back at him, putting his hand on Allison’s lower back, right above where her shirt is tucked into her trousers.

“Let’s go down to your room,” Scott suggests and takes Allison’s hand as she reaches down to pull him to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Scott sticks his arm in the wall the next morning and is relieved to see the usual mixture of cleaning duties and orientation classes. For a brief moment he thinks it might be days before they grade all the tests, but then his mother tells him the results are already available and can be looked up on the computer in the Education Center.

Don't look, he tells himself while he, Isaac, and Kira wipe off the tables in the dining hall and mop the floor. It'll just depress him more and make it harder for him to believe that the results don't matter.

He's just managed to convince himself everything's fine when he steps out of the elevator and sees a crowd of people in his orientation class around the bulletin board outside the Education Center. His heart sinks as Lydia steps forward, trying to see over the heads of the District 10s. Luckily for her, the crowd doesn't seem interested in lingering and moves on down into the hall with vaguely disappointed looks.

“It's only the top ten,” he hears one of them say, and Scott can't help follow Lydia to take a closer look at the list of ten names pinned to the board.

He's not on it, of course. Lydia is listed as number one, Allison is seventh, Cora ninth, and Kira, the lone non-Career District/non-Capitol name on the list, is tenth.

He guesses it makes sense. Like the standard of living, the education is probably much better in the Career Districts. Allison had even implied that she'd taken similar tests in school. District 5 isn't a Career District, but it's no 10 or 12, and anyway, Kira is the mayor's daughter, a mayor who'd had enough influence to smuggle her out of the Games. It is unlikely she grew up wanting for much.

“44th,” Isaac says, coming back to sit down next to Scott at their table. The instructor had given up trying to teach before they'd seen their scores, and ordered all those interested to line up at the back of the room to use the computer. “Could be better, but at least I'm in the top 50th percentile.”

“39th!” Malia says happily, looking relieved. “My dad would kill me if I couldn't even beat a 7.”

Isaac glowers at her, but Malia doesn't seem to notice, so he turns to Scott instead. “Are you sure you don't want to check?”

“Nah, I'm good,” Scott says easily.

“It can't be that bad,” Isaac says, looking at Scott uncertainly. “I mean, most of these people just sit around watching cows all day. They can't even get to class on time.”

“I really don't think that's all people in 10 do,” Scott tells Isaac pointedly. Does he really think he's going to make Scott feel better by belittling other people?

“Okay…” Isaac says, having the decency to look a little ashamed.

“The real question is what they're going to do with our scores?” Lydia says, looking less pleased with her score than Scott thought she'd be.

“I thought they just take them into account when we're applying for jobs,” Kira says, glancing behind her to see how many people are still waiting to use the computer.

“So they say,” Lydia says suspiciously.

“Seriously, relax, with that score they'll want you to be an analyst for sure,” Cora says at the other end of the table from Scott, rolling her eyes.

“What are you going to apply for?” Malia asks, suddenly turning towards him.

“Uh, I was going to try for a nursing position at the hospital,” Scott says, unprepared for the sudden interest of not only Malia, but the rest of the table as well. “If that doesn't work out, I don't know...I could do maintenance, I guess.”

“Really?” Malia says, frowning. “That sounds boring. I want to do something cool.”

“I don't know what I want to do,” Kira offers hesitantly when no one else says anything. “It'd be nice to try something not power plant related, but I want to be useful. I mean, that's the most important thing, right?”

“Yeah!” Scott says, glad that she agrees. “I mean, I’m just not sure what I can do.”

Lydia, Cora, and Isaac look at him with a mixture of confusion and incredulity.

“What?” Scott says, uncertain what to make of their reaction.

“I’m going to Special Defense and enlisting,” Allison says coolly, examining her fingernails.

“Wha-” Scott starts, insides clenching with dread, but at that moment the instructor decides to start class.

“Alright, everyone back to your seats,” he calls, getting up from his chair at the front and looking disapprovingly at the remaining students at the back of the room. “Now that you’ve seen your score we need to talk about your different options for employment. We’ll go through them by category. First, as I suspect will be relevant to many of you, is dairy and poultry.”

Scott stares at Allison in betrayal as the instructor moves on to talk about agriculture, fear squeezing his insides. She doesn’t look at him once.

“Allison,” he says the second the instructor ends the class and the room is instantly filled with chatter and the sounds of chairs scraping the floor. “Enlisting? Why?”

“It’s what I’m good at,” she says mildly, putting her notebook under her arm and pushing in her chair.   

“Allison, _wait_ , we need to talk about this,” Scott says as she turns toward the door.

“There’s really nothing to discuss,” she says as he hurries forward to fall in step with her on her way out of the classroom.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks her desperately. She can’t be serious. They just escaped from a fight to the death and now she wants to jump right back in?

She turns to look at him as they make their way to the elevator, expression inscrutable. “You said we should be useful. I spent my entire childhood training to fight and I aim to aid in the war effort in best way I can.”

“Why?” Scott says incredulously, because he didn’t think she cared about the rebellion, not really.  

“Because they have to be stopped,” she says, very calmly, but there’s a harsh edge to her voice that makes it quite clear she has made up her mind. “We have to fight back.”

That’s not what I meant when I said it, Scott thinks, speechless in horror. I didn’t mean you.  

“I was thinking about it, too,” Isaac blurts out, eyes darting away from Scott when he turns to look at him in betrayal. “I mean,” he continues, shrugging in an attempt to look casual. “I’m not...I can’t think of anything else I’d like to do.”

“But...but we just got here,” Scott says, stopping in his tracks and causing the people behind him to dodge around him to get to the elevator. “Why would you want to...I mean, I know you want to help, but we just got out of the Games, why would you want to go _back_?!”

He can feel his face getting hot, his chest tightening, and he knows he’s getting overly emotional, but he can’t help it. What are they _thinking_? They were supposed to be safe now. They were supposed to have escaped. How could they ever want to go to war, after everything?

“It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” Allison says, brow furrowing. “We’ll have to go through six weeks of training and 13’s not exactly sending soldiers to the front. Just air support and military consultants. Maybe that will change, but they don’t want to risk their own population if they don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Scott says, marginally reassured, but he still feels sick at the thought of Allison and Isaac going to war against the Capitol.

“This is something we can do,” she says, glancing at Isaac and then back to him. “Don’t worry about us.”

I can’t help that, Scott thinks miserably and follows them to the crowded elevator before the doors shut.

And he really can’t. It ruins the rest of his day, thinking about them going off to the Capitol and dying horribly. He does his best to hide it, but he can tell by his mother’s worried looks during lunch that she knows something is bothering him. Allison and Isaac are unnerved by his quietness throughout the day, but they don’t seem to know what to say to him and he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“That bad?” Scott’s mother says when they get ready for bed that night, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Scott sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t look,” he says quietly, avoiding eye contact with her while he towels off his damp hair from Bathing.

“Oh, _Scott_ ,” his mother says with a little laugh and he glances up at her in betrayal. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says and walks over to his side of the compartment and tugs him down to sit beside her on his bed.

“It’s going to be fine,” she reassures him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her tightly, her own damp hair falling against his shoulder. “Don’t wallow, okay, honey? You know that never ends well.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says resignedly, leaning his head down on her shoulder. He feels like he barely sees her because she’s always at the hospital. They usually don’t talk that much before bed because she’s always so exhausted after work.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently, kissing his temple. “You’re not stupid, I promise. That was never your problem.”

“Would you tell me if I was?” Scott mumbles, only slightly petulantly.

“Well, no,” Scott’s mother says immediately.

“ _Mom_ ,” Scott protests, raising his head from her shoulder to give her a reproachful look.

“Well, what kind of mother do you think I am?” his mom says unapologetically and then grins when he rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” she says, hand tightening on his arm and jostling them together. “Tomorrow you’ll go down to the hospital and apply for the nursing position. Head Doctor Finch is strict, but her bark is worse than her bite. Just be confident and I know she’ll see your potential.”

“Okay,” Scott says, trying to focus on the bright side.

His mother seems to notice his reticence and frowns. “Scott? Is something else wrong?”

“No,” he says uncomfortably, eyes darting away. “It’s just...Allison and Isaac are enlisting.”

“Oh,” she says.

There is a pause and Scott looks to her apprehensively, wondering what she’s thinking. His mother doesn’t really like Allison or Isaac, and to be honest, Scott can’t really blame her. Since the Capitol always edits out the boring parts, he’s sure she only saw them being violent in the Games, and since then neither of them have made any effort to speak to her or any of the other adults at their table in the Dining Hall. It’s kind of weird, actually. If Scott didn’t know any better he’d say they were afraid of her.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” his mother says carefully. “13’s not sending soldiers to the front, just weapons.”

“Eventually they will, though,” Scott says unhappily. Districts 4,6,7,8,10,11, and 12 are under rebel control while 3,5, and 9 are still heavily contested. But Scott doesn’t think anyone believes District 2 and the Capitol can be taken down from within. 13 will eventually have to send ground troops. “I just thought...I thought they’d be safe here.”

“They don’t seem like the type of people who would be content staying behind while there’s a war going on,” his mother says slowly.

Scott gives her a pointed look. “You don’t know them,” he says, even though she’s right. It’s just...the way she said it was hardly complimentary.

“No, I don’t,” she admits with a sigh, retracting her arm. “And to be honest, Scott, I don’t really understand your friendship with them. Neither of them seem like particularly nice people.”

Scott opens his mouth to protest, but find he can’t, not really. Nice, by any definition of the word, could never be used to describe Isaac and Allison.

“They’re good people,” he says, because he knows they are, even if they don’t think so.

Scott’s mother, unsurprisingly, does not look convinced. “What do you even do in their room?” she asks, frowning slightly.

 _Yeah_...he is not answering that question.

“We just hang out,” he says, getting up to sit on his own bed to cover the fact that he’s a terrible liar.

His mother gives him a skeptical look but then the light abruptly go out, signaling that it’s 22:30.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be supportive,” his mother sighs, the bedsheets rustling in the dark as she gets into bed. “I’m just worried about you. I want you to have friends, it’s just...they don’t seem very stable.”

Well, she isn’t wrong, Scott thinks, getting under the sheets and staring blankly up at the dark ceiling. But he wonders if she knows how much they aren’t the only ones. He hopes she doesn’t. She’s worried enough about him for several lifetimes combined.

“They’re getting there,” Scott replies and rolls over onto his side to sleep.

It’s okay if his mother doesn’t understand his relationship with Allison and Isaac. It would be kind of weird, to be honest. And anyway, it’s not like she ever really liked Stiles either.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Scott heads down to the hospital on Level 13. He's directed to the office to the left of the entrance, a small room filled to the brim with tables and chairs surrounded by sagging bookshelves. There's a pale woman with dark brown hair pulled up in a bun sitting at one of the tables, examining a medical chart. She looks up when Scott enters the room, expression shockingly severe.

“What are you doing in here?” she snaps, and he knows instantly that this is Head Doctor Finch. Great.

“I'm here to apply for a position,” Scott says, purposefully friendly. “The nurse at the desk told me there's a signup sheet in here?”

She looks at him critically, and by the crease in her brow, she is clearly unimpressed with what she sees.

“Nurse McCall's son, yes?” she says brusquely, ignoring his question. “District 12?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scott responds politely, not moving from his place at the door.

The crease between her eyebrows deepens and she looks annoyed.

“Scet, is it?” she asks.

“Scott,” he corrects, as gently as possible. “I didn't mean to bother you, if you could just point me to the signup sheet…” He looks around the room, but the tables are empty and every bit if wall space is taken up by bookshelves full of old looking books with titles like “Studies on Radiation Poisoning” and “Arthritis: A Compendium.” He finds it kind of odd that there would be so many books in the highly advanced 13. And they don't even have a library here, much to Lydia's annoyance when they first arrived.

“Well, don't just stand there, come in,” she says, and he walks forward into the room to stand in front of the table one over from the one she's sitting at.

She gets up and turns around towards the computer at the back of the room. She sits down behind it and drags her finger across the screen, tapping on it in different places, while Scott watches from the door uncertainly. He's heard about computers from his mother, mostly how complex and counterintuitive they are. It's the part of her job she loathes the most.

“Come _here,_ ” Finch beckons him, looking irritated to find him in the same position, and he steps around the tables and chairs to get to the back of the room and stand in front of the desk.

“What position?” she asks, taking her eyes off the screen to look up at him coolly.

“Nurse,” Scott says, telling himself to be confident, but he feels himself starting to sweat under her gaze. He thought all he'd have to do is sign his name on a sheet and they'd call him back for an interview. Why is she looking him up on the computer?

“Just as well, we only accept the top ten placement test scores into the Doctor Training program,” she says, giving him a disdainful look. “How do you spell your name?”

“S-C-O-T-T M-C-C-A-L-L,” he tells her, subtly wiping his sweaty palms on his gray trousers.

She taps on the screen a couple times and then frowns. “You’re not showing up in the reco-Oh, wait, the second C is capitalized, isn’t it? Ridiculous name.”

Really? Scott thinks looking down at her in disgust. Was that really necessary? It was so petty and unprofessional. _This_ was the woman in charge of an entire District’s hospital?

She moves her finger up the screen in a repetitive motion and Scott wonders what his file says. District 12, escaped Tribute, primitive medical knowledge. His test score, the results of his physical when he first arrived in 13, maybe some stuff about his parents.

She looks up at him after a second, a vaguely incredulous look on her face. “Why do you want to be a nurse?” she asks.

Shit. It’s really that bad, isn’t it?

“I have a lot of experience working with my mother back in 12,” Scott says, keeping his tone level and confident. “I know your medicine is different here, but I’m a quick learner and a hard worker. I’ve dealt with everything from influenza to miner’s lung to major burns and gangrene. We used to have patients stay at our house sometimes, so I have a lot of experience in helping patients recover after an illness or injury as well.”

Oh, no, why had he said _miner’s lung_? Could he have picked an ailment _more_ specific to 12? And he’s pretty sure he said the phrase “I have a lot of experience” twice…

Finch does not look impressed. “I think that would be a waste of both our times,” she says flatly.

So that’s it then, Scott think numbly, stomach sinking miserably. He didn’t expect...not so quickly…

Finch looks back at the computer screen. “Do they even teach algebra in 12?” she says, looking deeply unimpressed with his home District.

Scott has no idea what algebra is. “Look,” he says sharply, losing his patience with her ridicule. “I realize my score isn’t very good, but that’s what you get when you test people from outlier Districts. We pretty much only learn about coal and mining in 12. That’s it. It’s fine if you don’t want me to work here, but you don’t have to be so inconsiderate.”

“Inconsiderate?” she says and lets out a bark of a laugh. “You have some nerve.”

She looks suddenly deeply amused, looking over him again with much more interest than the first time. “I’m not going to hire you as a nurse,” she says, leaning back in her seat without taking her eyes off him. “I want you for the Doctor Training Program.”

Scott stares at her. “What?” he says carefully, not entirely sure he’s not about to become the victim of a cruel prank.

“Do I look like the kind of woman who repeats herself, Soldier McCall?” she asks, looking away from him back to the computer screen.

“But…” Scott says, heart pounding in his chest as he tries to figure out what this means. “You said only the top ten…”

“Yes, well, half of them are from the Capitol and have already been assigned jobs in Special Defense,” she says matter-of-factly, typing something on the keyboard. “I doubt I’ll get a single doctor out of them.”

“Oh,” Scott says, dazed, still half-expecting her to tell him it was all a joke.

She looks up at him and rolls her eyes, giving an irritated sniff. “Really?” she says, annoyed again and twists her computer screen around. “ _Look_.”

She points at the bottom of a table of numbers, percentages mostly. Scott frowns at the seemingly random list and then focuses on the row she’s pointing at.

Test Rank: 11

He keeps staring at it, trying to figure out if he’s misreading it somehow, but the number 11 doesn’t change and the percentages of the different topics on the test stay in the mid 70s and 80s except for the last two parts of the math section.

“Oh,” he says after he ascertains he’s not in fact hallucinating. He looks up at her blankly. “But I...I thought I failed.”

“Clearly not,” she says, still looking irritated.

“Yeah, I’m not...I’m not sure that’s accurate,” Scott tries to explain, a faint buzzing sound ringing in his ears. “I mean...I guessed on a lot of questions.”

Finch rolls her eyes. “Come back tomorrow at 14:00 for an interview, Soldier McCall,” she says, turning back to the computer screen. “And bring your self-esteem with you. I don’t have time for people who don’t know their own value.”

“Right…” Scott says, blinking stupidly and leaves before he can embarrass himself even further.

For lack of a better idea what to do, he goes back to his compartment and lies down in bed, arms crossed behind his head.

 _Eleven_. His test rank was _eleven_. How was that possible? He didn’t know what half the words in the questions even _meant_ on the language section and the last part of the math section was a disaster. Could he be that good at guessing?

He can’t help the grin that creeps onto his face as he stares up at the ceiling. Finch wanted him to be a doctor. A _doctor_! He rolls over onto his side to hide his smile in his pillow, trembling slightly in excitement. He isn’t stupid, after all. They want to train him to be a _doctor_. His mom is going to be so proud.

He spends a couple minutes trying to imagine what it will be like, what he’ll be learning, how he’ll be able to help people, but he’s too excited to sit still so eventually he gets up and goes to see if he can find Allison or Isaac.

They’re not in their compartment, and after Scott checks the bathrooms on their floor and the Laundry he’s not sure where to look. They’d gotten the whole day off to apply for jobs, but he thought they’d only planned on applying at Special Defense. Were they still there?

He’s just about to go down to Special Defense and ask if anyone’s seen them when he sees Allison come out of the elevator.

“Hey!” he calls down the hallway to her, his heart leaping into his chest in excitement. “How did it go?”

“They had a lot of questions,” Allison says, looking puzzled as he half skips towards her. “Do they have a nursing position open?”

“Something like that,” Scott says, almost shaking with the effort to keep from beaming. “I'm going back tomorrow for an interview.”

“That's great,” Allison says, breaking into a smile. She looks so beautiful when she smiles. Scott wants to touch her, wrap her arms around her and feel her body against his. Even in District 13’s shapeless gray clothing she’s still one of the most beautiful women Scott's ever seen. Maybe because of the clothes. She looks so soft and touchable, not scary like she did in the Capitol.

He reaches out to touch a strand of her dark hair, so soft from 13’s shampoo. He wants to ask if she'd come back to her compartment with him, but he can't think of a way to word it so it doesn't sound ungentlemanly, so he just puts his hands on her waist and pulls her in close so their noses brush against one another.

Allison's eyelids slip to half-mast, and she tilts her chin up invitingly, lips curled in a smirk.

Scott kisses her, openmouthed and desperate, and groans when she pulls him up against her body by his belt loops. Her tongue slip past his lips tantalizingly, but then she pulls away to kiss his neck and Scott shudders, tilting his head back in pleasure. He gives her neck the same treatment after a minute, so lost in her soft skin and breasts against his chest that he doesn’t notice her pulling him forwards until her back hits the wall.

“ _Oh_ , Allison,” he says, taking his hands off her waist and putting his palms flat against the wall. He groans as she slips a thigh between his and grabs his bottom. “I don’t think...I don’t think we should be doing this here.”

“Don’t care,” she tells him, tilting his head to the side to kiss his neck. “Touch me.”

“Kind of...kind of doing that a lot,” he manages and suppresses an unmanly whimper as she runs one of her hands through his hair and tugs slightly, head dropping onto her shoulder weakly.

“But, oh, you could do so much more,” she says in a tone of voice that... _yeah_ , goes right to his dick.

Her hand tightens in his hair, fingers stroking his scalp gently in contrast, and Scott raises his head to kiss her roughly. He brings one hand down to cup her right breast and weaves his fingers of the other through her hair, pressing them further against the wall. Allison moans quietly and Scott feels a thrill of triumph run up his spine at the sound. Her thigh feels great between his legs and he wants nothing more than to rub up against her, slip his hands under her clothes and feel skin. In public. He’s been completely corrupted, hasn’t he?

The elevator doors open a couple yards away and Scott doesn’t have time to do much more than pull back and turn to see a group of 10’s (distinctive because of their sandy colored hair and slow gait) enter the hallway. They stop and stare at the two of them, but before Scott can pull away from Allison, their expressions turn to horror.

“What are you doing?!” a broad-shouldered man demands, looking outraged. “Get off her!”

Scott's cheeks burn in humiliation, and he tries to step back automatically, but Allison tightens her arm around his waist to prevent him from moving.

“Why?” she asks flatly.

Scott glances at her to see her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Are you...are you okay?” a middle-aged woman asks her, blue eyes wide with concern.

“Well, no, I'm trying to get laid and you're being extremely interfering,” Allison says without the tiniest bit of shame.

“ _Allison_!” Scott says, turning to look at her in horror, appalled by her crudeness.

“What?” the broad-shouldered man says, stunned.

Allison lets out an annoyed huff against his cheek and slips out from under him, letting go of his bottom and grabbing his hand instead. “Let's go,” she says, pulling him down the hall.

Scott glances back to so the group of 10’s goggling at them and quickly looks away, wishing he had a jacket or something he could take off and cover his erection with.

“What idiots,” Allison says scornfully, shutting the door of her room behind him. “Was ignoring us too high-concept for their tiny brains?”

“I think they thought…” Scott says uncomfortably, sitting down on the bed and dragging the pillow over his lap. “I mean, I can see why...I was kind of pressing you against the wall.”

She gives him a nonplussed look. “So?”

“I mean, maybe they thought I was...I dunno, hurting you?”

He hates even to bring it up, but he knows how it might have looked. If he'd been caught like that in 12, with a girl who looked Allison...he'd probably have ended up at the whipping post.

“I had my hand on your ass,” she says, frowning.

“Well, yeah,” he says, flushing. “But it's better to be safe than sorry.”

The confusion slides off her face and she looks blankly at him for a moment.

“Allison?” he asks hesitantly, uncertain what to make of her expressionless face.

Her eyes focus on him again and then she pulls off her shirt and brassiere, right in the middle of the room. Scott stares at her breasts on instinct, and when he raises his eyes she's smirking at him.

She sits down next to him on the bed, batting the pillow to the floor carelessly, and Scott kisses her, helpless to resist, and pulls her down to the bed.

Scott can't seem to stop touching her afterwards, thumbing over her hipbone and stroking her cheek. Allison presses herself firmly against his body despite the sweat and tucks her head under his chin, arm wrapped around his waist tightly.

“What do you think it's going to be like, being a soldier?” he asks after a moment.

“I was already a soldier,” she says against his chest. “I doubt training will be much different than the Academy.”

“Yeah, but there's a war going on now,” Scott says, bemused by this attitude. He can definitely think of at least one difference: _guns_.

Allison doesn't say anything for a moment. “I suppose that's true,” she finally admits.

“You know, you don't have to enlist,” he tells her, pushing her hair to the side to get a better look at her face. “There's tons of other stuff you can do here.”

“Yes, I'll just get a job in the greenhouse and water plants,” she says scornfully, refusing to look up at him.

“What's wrong with that?” Scott asks, legitimately confused.

Allison doesn't respond for another moment. “I don't know,” she says quietly. “I just...I want to do something productive. _Active_ ,” she corrects when he opens his mouth.

Okay, he gets that. That is what she's used to.

“Okay,” he says carefully, not unaware of the tenseness in her shoulders. “As long as that's what you really want to do.”

“You're too nice,” she says, but he can feel her mouth curve upward against his skin.

Before Scott can ask her more about her motivations to enlist, the door opens suddenly and Isaac slouches into the room, looking only mildly surprised to see them both in bed.

“Ugh,” he says, flopping down at Allison's side and grabs a handful of her breasts without any preamble.

Scott jerks a little in shock, but Allison doesn't react other than to roll her eyes and lean back to kiss him.

Isaac groans and pulls her closer to his chest, hand slipping down to grab her hip. They're always so pretty when they kiss- Scott feels his face go hot watching them, shifting uncomfortably under the sheets. After a minute Isaac pulls away and presses his nose into her hair.

“So many questions…” he groans. “I swear, I thought they were going to _drive_ me crazy.”

“What did they want to know?” Scott asks.

“If I'm crazy,” Isaac mumbles. “Or prone to snapping and trying to murder people. Apparently they have problems with that here.”

“It was a psych eval,” Allison says. “Psychological evaluation,” she clarifies when he looks at her blankly. “To make sure you have the right mentality to be a soldier.”

“Oh,” Scott says, having never heard of this concept. “How'd it go?”

“I think I did okay,” Isaac sighs. “They just try to mess with you. What about you?”

“The Head Doctor wants me to come back tomorrow for an interview,” Scott says, aware that Isaac is trying to change the subject, but not wanting to push him.

“The Head Doctor?” Allison turns back to him to ask. “He interviews the nurses?”

“Uh, no,” Scott says, immediately regretting his choice of words. “She, uh, wants me to be a doctor.”

It's not like he wanted to hide it, but he would have liked to wait until there was something definitive to tell them.

“Wait, really?” Isaac says, raising his head to look at Scott in surprise.

“That's great,” Allison says empathetically, an expression and tone of voice Scott's never seen on her before. It is oddly purposeful and Scott feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment at the attention.

“See, I told you your score didn't matter!” Issac says with a happy laugh.

“Well, actually I did a lot better than I thought I did,” Scott says carefully, aware that Isaac had only barely managed to get into the top 50th percentile of test takers. It wouldn't do to brag.

“What'd you get?” Allison inquires.

“Uh, I was 11th,” Scott says humbly, even though his chest is bursting with pride at the words.

“ _Really_?” Isaac says, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Yeah, I mean, it was probably luck, I guessed a lot, so…” Scott says quickly, but he can't hide his smile.

“Shit, no wonder they want you to be a doctor,” Isaac says, no sign of resentment in his face.

“Yeah?” Scott says.

“Are you kidding, that’s awesome,” Isaac says happily. “I mean, you want to be a doctor, right?”

“No, definitely,” Scott says, immeasurably relieved that he’s taking this well. “It seems like it’ll probably be really hard-everything’s so different here, you know-but I really like, you know, helping people.”

“We know,” Allison says simply.

“I still have to go through the interview,” Scott says, mostly for his own benefit, lying down and focusing on Allison’s locks of dark hair on the pillow next to him. There's nothing worse than false hope. “It might all fall apart tomorrow.”

“No, it won't, they'll want you,” Isaac says loyally.

Scott glances up at him, feeling very shy from all the attention. He's not used to being the center of attention of anyone except his mother, and even then so much of their lives together was spent scraping by that it never lasted long. He's never had someone so focused on him, interested in what he felt or had to say before. And when he came to 13 the entire District knew who he was, probably the entirety of Panem now. The woman in charge of the hospital wants him to be a doctor. It's all a little overwhelming when most of his life he's mostly been known as “Melissa’s son” or “Stilinski’s friend.”

It’s a nice feeling, being wanted, but he doesn’t really know how to respond to it without worrying about seeming arrogant, so he changes the subject.

“What time is it?” he says, sitting up a bit to look at the clock above the hole in the wall that prints their schedules on their arms every morning. “Lunch is probably soon, right?”

“I’m not even hungry,” Isaac says tiredly, closing his eyes against Allison’s shoulder. “I just want a shower and a blowjob.”

“Good luck with that,” Allison tells him condescendingly.

Isaac opens his eyes and gives Scott a piteously hopeful look, complete with a slight pout of his lips.

It’s so ridiculous Scott can’t help snort with laughter, biting his lip to keep from grinning.

“Yeah, you want it?” Scott says when Isaac just smirks shamelessly, giddy with how great everything has been going. He feels a sudden jolt of energy go through him, confident and so alive. “Come over here then.”

Isaac grins and clambers over Allison, struggling out of his shirt as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is so late! I keep procrastinating because I'm too lazy to edit. 
> 
> Anyway, I really liked writing this chapter! Surprisingly, as usually I enjoy tormenting my main characters, but Scott is just too cute. He's much more earnest than the type of character I usually write, which is new and exiting.
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	14. The Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains attempted sexual assault. See end notes for further details.

Scott feels like his insides are staging a revolt as he follows a nurse down the long hallway to Head Doctor Finch’s office. He’d barely been able to eat breakfast and he feels almost light-headed as he takes in all the different rooms, doctors wheeling patients down the hallway in stretchers past him. He didn’t realize this the first time he was here, but he thinks there is a computer in every room. And they want him to work _here_?

“Here it is,” the nurse tells him once they reach the end of the hallway. She knocks on the narrow white door with a placard on the front reading “Head Doctor Michelle Finch.”

“Come in!” a voice says from behind the door and the nurse steps aside to let Scott open the door.

It’s a medium sized room with more bookshelves lining the walls, a desk with a computer on it, a couple chairs, and a green couch pressed up against the wall next to the door. Finch is sitting behind her desk, typing something on her computer and she glances up at Scott when he enters the room.

“Close the door and sit down,” she tells him, gesturing at the utilitarian metal chair in front of her desk, the same kind that they have in all the classrooms. Scott sits, back straight, and arranges his hands in his lap in a way that he hopes radiates self-confidence.

“The Doctor Training Program is usually a three year program, but since we're in the middle of a war right now, we've made some changes,” she explains succinctly. “You will be splitting your time between classes and assisting doctors with their patients. You will likely be spending more than 12 hours a day in this hospital, so I suggest you get used to it.”

“R-right,” Scott says when she doesn't say anything else. Isn't this supposed to be an interview? he thinks. He and his mother had even stayed up late last night after Bathing going over what kind of questions he should expect, though he hadn't told her that he wasn't interviewing to be a nurse. But Finch is acting like she's already decided to take him on.

“I know that you have more experience in your District than the average trainee, but as you've no doubt noticed, we do things a lot differently here and there will be several areas you will have difficulty with, such as the technology we use throughout this hospital. You will be expected to catch up with any deficiencies you may have on your own time. Is that clear?”

“Yes, I understand,” Scott says firmly, like his heart isn't in his throat. This is really happening. He's really going to be a doctor.

“Good,” she says, picking up a beige folder next to her computer. “Give this to the receptionist and she'll direct you to someone who will show you around.”

The folder has his name printed on it in perfect computerized letters.

“Thank you,” Scott forces himself to say, though his throat is quite tight. He takes the folder from her carefully, worried about leaving sweat stains on the pristine paper. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” he tells her, remembering his mother's advice. “I'll work hard and I won't let you down.”

Her eyes lock onto his for a second, as if she wasn't expecting that. “See that you do,” she says coolly, and Scott takes it a his cue to go.

He hands his folder to the receptionist and she calls someone down to the front (an orderly) to show him around. The orderly is a medium sized man with rust colored hair who seems slightly bemused by Scott, but dutifully shows him the different areas of the hospital, culminating in the locker room.

“You'll come here at the end of your shift to shower and change your scrubs,” the orderly tells him. “You'll be a trainee, so you probably won't get a locker, probably one of the baskets back there.” He points toward the back of the room to a bunch of brown baskets on a shelf across from the showering area. A man and a woman's voice are audible over the sound of water behind the tile wall, and Scott really hopes they'll be gone by the time they come out.

“Okay,” Scott says, turning a little towards the door. “Thanks for showing me around. Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, this is our last stop,” the orderly says, pulling open the locker room door to return to the white hallway.

“What about reading material?” Scott asks, following him out the door. “Are there any training manuals I should take home?”

“You'll get those in your training classes,” the orderly says, looking rather surprised at this inquiry.  “You'll have more training manuals than you know what to do with.”

“Okay,” Scott says, disappointed. Maybe he can ask to borrow one of the large white binders his mother is always studying.

The orderly takes him back to the front desk, but before he leaves he asks the receptionist the same question, gesturing at the room to the left of the desks with all the books inside.

“You'll get them when you start classes,” she says, giving him a bemused look.

“Yeah, I know,” Scott says, wondering if it's hopeless because of all the rules they have around here. “I just wanted to study ahead?”

No one has actually told him when he'll start. District 13 is especially bad at telling people things in advance, he's beginning to realize. They just put everything on their schedules.

“I mean, I'm from District 12,” Scott tries at a last resort when she just gives him a blank look. “I'm already going to be way behind, so I was wondering if there was something I could study in advance to be better prepared.”

“Uh, I can check, but I'm not sure if you're allowed to sign anything out yet,” she says dubiously.

“I'm starting soon, and if I sign it out it's not like they won't know where it is,” Scott says quickly.

“Alright,” she says, still looking a little bemused, and goes into the side room. She comes out with a sign up sheet after a bit and then Scott's leaving the hospital with a manual on patient admittance procedure.

He goes back to room immediately and spends the rest of the afternoon reading through the manual, impressed with how detailed it is. So many questions need to be asked when a patient is admitted to hospital, much more than he and his mother asked people back in 12 when they came to them with some ailment or injury. And each answer can mean a different problem. It's fascinating how the questions are designed to narrow down the problem as quickly as possible.

There's a knock on his door after a couple hours and Scott grins. If it was his mother she'd just walk in.

“Hey,” he says, opening the door, unable to stop smiling.

“How did it go?” Allison asks quickly. Both she and Isaac look exhausted, but their eyes are focused.

“I got it,” Scott says, pulling the door open further and stepping back to let them in.

“Really?” Isaac says, brightening in delight.

Allison's mouth curves into a rare smile and she bounds forward to embrace him.

“Good,” she says in a satisfied tone, nuzzling her nose against his, and kisses him.

Scott wraps his hand around her waist and kisses back eagerly, but pulls away when she starts to back him towards his bed. “Wait, Allison, I don’t think…”

“This is your bed, right?” Isaac asks, plopping down on it and glancing down at the manual. For one reason or another-or, well, several good reasons, actually- Allison and Isaac have only been to his compartment twice before.

“Yes, but, we can't,” Scott says, groaning as Allison slips her hands under his shirt. “My mom could come back.”

“Isaac can go keep watch,” Allison murmurs in his ear and Scott chokes as she reaches down to grab a handful of his bottom.

“As _if_ ,” Isaac says indignantly. “I go keep watch, while you what, give him a handjob? Yeah, right, this calls for a blow job.”

He reaches out to pull Scott into a seated position on the bed and slides onto the floor between Scott's legs.

He smirks up at Scott lewdly. “You up for it? Besides the obvious.” His eyes drop down to where’s Scott's half-hard underneath his slightly tented trousers.

This, Scott feels, is quite unfair, and cannot completely smother the weak noise in the back of his throat.

Isaac grins and reaches out to palm Scott’s crotch. Scott groans at the pressure and reaches out for Isaac’s shoulders to steady himself. This is such a bad idea, he thinks, but pushes forward into Isaac’s hand anyway.

“If you’re not going to stand watch you could at least take your shirt off and give him something to look at,” Isaac says, turning to the side to sneer at Allison.

“You’re right, your cocksucking face is not exactly a pleasant sight,” Allison replies cooly and sheds her shirt and brassiere easily.

He’s so screwed if his mom comes back now, Scott thinks, staring at her breasts.

“At least I suck cock,” Isaac scowls at her, hand stilling on Scott.

“Okay,” Scott says, sounding stupidly desperate even to his own ears. “Can you just…”

Isaac looks back up at him, grinning filthily. “Can I just?”

Scott stares down at him helplessly and is rather relieved when Allison sits down beside him and help him pull off his shirt. She wraps her arms around his waist and presses her bare breasts to his back, pressing her mouth to his neck. Scott moans quietly and leans back into her, relishing the feel of her hands moving down his chest. He bites his lip to stifle louder sounds when Isaac pulls his dick out of his trousers and presses his mouth to the tip in a truly obscene kiss.

“ _Isaac_ ,” Scott absolutely does not whimper as Isaac laves his tongue teasingly over the head of his dick. “Come on…” He tightens his fingers on Isaac’s shoulder, wanting him closer, wanting his mouth on him already.

“Mmm, I’m getting there,” Isaac says, leaning down further to suck a bit at the base, shifting from one knee to the other on the white tile floor.

Scott breathes heavily, now being completely held up by Allison, sweat dripping down his temple. He curls his toes in his shoes and tries not to completely take leave of his senses. “Your...are your knees okay like that?” he asks, taking a large gulp of air.

“You must be really terrible at blowjobs if he’s thinking about your knees,” Allison observes in amusement.

Scott lets out a mangled groan of frustration and leans back to stare up at the ceiling in despair.

“Blow me,” Isaac tells Allison.

Scott looks back down at him. “ _Really_?” he says pointedly.

Isaac smiles innocently up at him and then swallows him down.

Scott manages to get through the next couple minutes with minimal humiliating noises, pressing the side of his face into Allison's neck and shuddering quietly as she strokes up and down his chest and kisses his ear. Isaac’s mouth is hot and wet, and his tongue is constantly moving around his dick. Scott nearly bites through his lip trying to be quiet when he spends, and then sort of sags backwards as he feels his body turn into jelly.

“See, no mother,” Isaac says smugly as Allison pulls his back onto the bed to lie next to her. “She's probably working, anyway. It's fine.”

Scott grumbles, not particularly interested in talking about his mother at this juncture. Instead he snuggles back against Allison, who keeps kissing the back of his neck and chin and stroking his hair. It feels so nice and loving. Allison's so good at stuff like that.

The bed shifts and Scott opens his eyes as he hears the clatter of his binder on the floor. He watches Isaac kick off his shoes and lie down in front of Scott.

“Want me to take care of that?” Scott murmurs, propping his head up on his arm to look down at Isaac's erection.

“Eh, maybe later,” Isaac says, and face plants into the corner of Scott's pillow. “Those health checks were no joke.”

“What'd they make you do?” Scott asks, noticing the slight smell of sweat coming off of them. Behind him, Allison has stopped moving, resting her head on Scott's shoulder and her palm on his stomach.

“We had to run around a lot,” Isaac mumbles into the pillow. “And do pushups and lift weights.”

“Did it go okay?”

“Yeah...we're in a lot better shape than when we came here, so…” Isaac says sleepily, and a couple minutes later Scott is surrounded by sleeping bodies on either side.

He snorts softly with laughter and then leans over Isaac carefully to pick up his training manual and continues reading.

 

* * *

 

He breaks the news to his mother while they wait in line for dinner and is half embarrassed and half pleased when she embraces him in the middle of the line.

“Oh, Scott, I'm so proud of you,” she tells him, smiling brightly. “But how did you...I heard the training program was impossible to get into.”

“Yeah, they need more doctors, you know, because of the war,” Scott says sheepishly, cheeks hot with pleasure at her excitement.

“You'll be great, I know you will,” she says excitedly, taking a couple steps forward as the line moves closer to the metal vats of food. “There's so much to learn at first, but I know you'll work hard and- _Scott_!” she says suddenly, whacking him on the arm lightly. “You knew yesterday, didn't you!? Why didn't you say anything?”

“Well, I wasn't sure I'd really get it,” Scott says plaintively. “The interview was just this afternoon!”

“You little schemer,” his mother narrows her eyes at him. “Asking me all those questions about my interview last night.”

Scott smiles wryly and shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

They get their food and head to their table, Scott still floating high on her praise and excitement for the future. Deaton gives him a brief smile, when they approach but he looks exhausted. Scott wonders what exactly he's doing in Special Defense that he's not allowed to talk about. He also wonders what Deaton will say when he finds out Scott's going to be a doc-but no, it wouldn't do to brag.

Scott's just putting his tray down between Allison and his father when his mother announces: “So, Scott's going to be in training to be a doctor.”

Scott sits down far too hard on the bench and flushes as everyone at the table looks to him.

“Scott, that's great!” Deaton says, his eyes lighting up.

“Congratulations,” Scott's father says one beat behind, looking at Scott in surprise over his spoonful of boiled cabbage.

Scott shifts uncomfortably in his seat and pokes at his shredded chicken with his fork.

“How are _you_ in training to be a doctor?” Lydia asks incredulously, one red eyebrow raised dubiously. “I thought they said they only took the top ten on the placement test.”

“They need more doctors because of the war,” Scott explains, so used to Lydia's attitude by now that he's not really insulted, though everyone else looks kinda irritated. “So they lowered the requirem-”

“Scott got 11th,” Isaac says with an obnoxious slurp of his water. He grins when Scott turns to look at him in disbelief.

“What?” Scott's mother says, looking between the two of them in confusion. “Scott, is that true?”

“I-yeah,” Scott admits, frowning at Isaac, because why would he just announce that? Isaac might have been fine with the fact that Scott had gotten a much higher ranking than him, but not everyone would be. Stiles always got mad when Scott did better than him in school, and Scott doesn't want to make anyone feel embarrassed about their ranking.

“Well done!” Deaton says, smiling gently at Scott. “I've heard that test is tricky.”

“That's one way of putting it,” his father says, a grin creeping onto his sunken face. “I don't think anyone from 12 has done so well.”

He pats Scott on the arm congratulatoryily, leaving Scott with warring feelings of irritation and pride for a moment.

“You should have told me,” Scott's mother says. “Look at you, keeping all these secrets. Anything else I should know about, huh?”

“No,” Scott blatantly lies, shoving a spoonful of cabbage into his mouth.

“Oh, am I embarrassing you?” she says teasingly, a devious look in her eye. “Should I not mention your birthday next Thursday?”

“ _Mom_ ,” Scott protests, flushing.

“ _What_ ,” Allison says, putting down her fork.

“Is it almost September already?” Scott's father says.

Aware of Allison and Isaac's eyes on him, Scott ducks over his tray and spoons his small portion of shredded chicken into his mouth, cheeks still hot. At least Cora, Kira, and Malia weren't sitting with them today, he tells himself ruefully.

“You didn't have to mention my ranking,” Scott tells Isaac as they deposit their trays back at the front of the dining hall.

“Why?” Isaac says, frowning. “Why would you want to keep it a secret?”

“It's not secret, I just…” Scott says, following him over toward the entrance. “I don't want to make anyone feel bad.”

“That's their problem,” Isaac says unsympathetically. “Besides, there are ten other people ahead of you they can feel bad about.”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“Hey, c'mon,” Isaac says, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side after they step into the hallway. “You wanna stay over tonight?”

“You know I can't,” Scott says, leaning up against the wall. “And I thought you were exhausted.”

“You can do most of the work, then,” Isaac says with a suggestive smirk, rubbing his thumb over the juncture of Scott's elbow.

Isaac should just not be allowed to talk sometimes, Scott thinks resentfully, swallowing audibly.

“Scott?” his mother says, the rest of them coming out into the hallway.

Isaac's takes his hand off his arm and steps back quickly, while Scott pushes off the wall, trying to put more distance between them. How could he not have noticed how close they were, with all these people walking by?

His mother gives them an odd look. “Better hurry if you want first shower,” she tells Scott evenly.

“See you tomorrow,” Scott says quickly to Isaac.

Behind his mother, Allison and his father look uncomfortable, and Scott follows his mother to the elevator, quickening to fall into step with her.

Act normal, he tells himself nervously. Don't look so guilty, you weren't even doing anything.

“They let me borrow one of their training manuals,” he tells his mother once they step out of the elevator on their level. “I see what you mean about how many rules there are.”

“Just wait until you see the computers,” his mother says, but she sounds distracted, her brow furrowed slightly.

Scott watches her nervously as they get to their compartment, people already hurrying by them to get to the showers even though Bathing doesn't officially start for another half an hour.

“You want to go first?” his mother asks, opening their compartment door. Scott tries to read her expression, but she just looks tired.

“Okay,” Scott says, and grabs his towel before heading down the hall to get it line. There are a bunch of families on their level that all bathe together, but both Scott and his mother are far too old-fashioned to ever see each other naked. Ideally they would just go on different days, but despite 13’s frugality, they are quite insistent that everyone bathe every night.

There's only ten people ahead of him in line, so he gets in pretty soon after the doors open and quickly scrubs himself down. The water is nice and warm, but Scott can never really enjoy it because of the other people on either side. Today his discomfort is shared by a couple 10’s, but the citizens of 13 chatter happily as they wash. A teenage girl a couple years younger than him on his right side is telling her father a story about some mishap in her education class, and Scott spends the entire time he's showering paranoid she's looking at him.

His mother is waiting in line when he comes out and Scott goes back to the room, toweling down his hair with the thin white towel he was given when he first came to 13. He reads a bit more of the manual until his mom comes back, and checks the clock on the wall as she hangs her towel on the hook on the back of the door next to his. Eleven minutes to lights out.

“Scott,” his mother says, and his heart jumps because he knows where this is going just by the tone of her voice.

He glances up from the manual. “Yeah?” he says, trying to sound casual.

“I'm worried about you,” she says, sitting down on the edge of her bed to face him, face still flushed slightly from her shower. “I know you don't want to hear this, but that Isaac boy...You spend so much time with him. I'm worried he might be getting the wrong impression.”

“About what?” Scott asks, sitting up to face her as well, even though he's fairly sure he knows what she's talking about.

“He comes off a little, well, queer,” his mother says plainly, apparently through with beating around the bush. “I know you always want to see the best in people, Scott, but I don't want him to try to...to try to take advantage of that more than he already has.”

“What do you mean, take advantage?” Scott says, shocked by what she's implying. She really thinks Isaac is capable of something like that?

“Don't play dumb, Scott, I saw him kiss you,” his mother says, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“ _What?”_ Scott stares at her, heart leaping in his chest in shock. How? He's only kissed Isaac in his and Allison's compartment, not anywhere they could be seen.

“In the Games,” his mother says. “And...and he was touching you and I know it was cold, Scott, but I just. I don't think he has good intentions. The way he looks at you, it's...awful.”

Of all the things she's said so far, it's this that sends a spike of anger through him. He can understand that she doesn't know Isaac that well and that she doesn't understand what's between them, but the way Isaac looks at him is not _awful_.

“Mom, you don't have to worry about that,” Scott says, trying to sound comforting. “He's a good person, I promise.”

She bites her lip, not looking particularly comforted. “I want to believe you, honey, but you haven't always had the greatest track record. There was that boy Theo, and even Stiles-”

“What about Stiles?” Scott snaps so harshly he barely recognizes his voice coming out of his mouth.

Scott's mother opens her mouth to respond, but then seems to think better of it and just says: “Never mind,” quietly.

Scott feels a pang of regret even as his heart races at her mention of Stiles. She looks so exhausted. His mother is not even forty, but she looks so old in this moment, the streaks of gray in her hair and wrinkles around the hollows of her eyes magnified somehow.

The lights go off before Scott trusts himself to speak without saying something he might regret, the entire room pitch black besides the muted red light on the ceiling from the smoke detecting machine. His mother told him it's been nicknamed “the evil eye” by the newcomers.

“Good night, Scott,” his mother says softly.

Scott doesn't reply, still fuming silently in the dark. Sleep does not come easily.

 

* * *

 

The words “DTP Education” show up on his schedule three days later and suddenly Scott's days are occupied by medical classes in the morning and shadowing doctors around the hospital in the afternoon. The classes are fascinating, but they also highlight just how far out of his depth he is. He may be more familiar with certain maladies than the other trainees, but there is almost no crossover in treatment methods. The names of the different drugs and parts of the body are extremely confusing, and he's taken to repeating them over and over under his breath in the elevator and hallways, to the annoyance of everyone around him. He has six classmates, all from 13, and they seem nice enough, though a little bemused by his presence. They're all between ages 14-20 and Scott gets the impression the older ones have been trying to get into the program for years. They’re all very serious and don't really socialize much, with him or each other, but there was one memorable day where the girl seated next to him noticed his handwriting and spent all their break marveling over it, drawing the attention of the others. Apparently they don't teach calligraphy in 13, and are very impressed at what every kid from District 12 has drilled into them from age six. He sees Head Doctor Finch in the hallways every once and a while, but she always seems extremely busy, so he doesn't say hello. His mother pops in and out of rooms sometimes when a doctor is explaining how they diagnosed and are treating a particular patient, and Scott's impressed with how naturally she performs tasks like inserting IVs and changing the medication drip on the computer.

The patients in the hospital have quite different problems than Scott's used to treating in 12. Many of them are elderly, suffering from ailments that most people in District 12 don't even live long enough to get. The others are survivors of the pox that killed of a large percentage of 13’s population more than a decade ago and are still suffering from side effects such as partial-blindness and deafness, digestion problems, and infertility. There are very few injuries and even fewer pregnant women.

He doesn't see Allison and Isaac much except for meals, but they're busy too. They start Basic Training a couple days after Scott's program begins, and despite the fact that it's designed for fourteen year olds, they're even more exhausted than he is, though Allison claims it's nothing compared to the training back in 2. Cora and Malia are in Basic Training as well, while Kira gets a job working with her father updating the electrical grid.

His seventeenth birthday comes and goes without much fuss, to his great relief, but a couple days later Allison catches him on the way back to his compartment from the showers.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks, surprised at her presence on Level 3.

“This is for you,” she says, and thrusts out her hand at him.

It's a small package wrapped in an oak leaf and held together with some twine. It's shockingly green in contrast to the white hallway and Scott suddenly realizes it's been days since he's been outside.

“For your birthday,” she says when he just stares at it.

“Oh,” Scott says. “Oh! You shouldn't have...I mean, thank you.”

He takes it from her, and at her expectant look, unties the twine. Inside the leafy wrapping is a small white tube.

“It's for your lips,” she explains.

She wants him to wear lipstick? Scott thinks, but when he uncaps it, the contents are white and translucent.

The bottom of the tube is ridged and when he turns it, the contents move up above the rim of the tube. He tries it on his lips and is pleasantly surprised by this moisturizing effect. It's almost like aloe, but less watery.

“Thanks,” he says, rubbing his lips together.

Allison smiles. She must have just taken a shower because her hair is wet and her cheeks are flushed.

“You should come stay with us tonight,” she says.

“You know I can't,” Scott says with a twinge of disappointment. Isaac and Allison have been asking him this a lot recently because they hardly have any free time. “My mom would be suspicious.”

“You could just tell her,” Allison says, unswayed by this argument.

“That,” Scott says definitively, “would not go well.”

His mom was already freaking out at the idea that Isaac was a sodomite. Finding out that Scott is kind of one too, and that they're both involved with Allison could only end in disaster.

“Okay,” Allison says unhappily.

“It's not like I don't want to,” Scott says, feeling bad. He looks around the empty hallway and then steps forward to put his hands on her upper arms. “I miss you too.”

Allison leans in to hook her chin over his shoulder and press the side of her face against his neck. He wraps his arms around her and sighs at how nice she feels in his arms.

“I miss you,” she says very quietly, like she's embarrassed someone might hear her.

“I'm sorry,” Scott says, inhaling the scent of her hair. He pulls back and cups her face. “We'll find time, I promise.”

Allison nods and steps back. “I’d better get back to the room before Lights Out,” she says. “See you at breakfast.”

“See you,” Scott says as she turns around. “Thanks for the present.”

He watches her walk down the hallway to the elevator, feeling a little sad, but he can't help the glow in his chest when he looks down at her gift. He feels the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he rolls the tube around in his palm.

He wonders how she got it. Hopefully she didn't steal it.

 

* * *

 

The rebels have taken District 9 by the time Scott has his first major exam on human anatomy, and suddenly their diet includes a lot more bread and even long thin noodles. District 3 and District 5 are technically still in play, but the remaining Peacekeepers have been completely cut off from their supply of food and energy, so it’s only a matter of time before they fall as well. Rumors fly around the Dining Hall and the showers about the latest developments, but to be honest, Scott is so exhausted most of the time he doesn’t have the energy to pay attention. He manages to spend some time with Allison and Isaac twice over the next month, but the rest of the time he’s either in classes, at the hospital, studying, or sleeping. He’d probably be miserable if not for the fact that he gets to see all his friends in the Dining Hall three times a day and he’d probably feel bad that that’s the only time he gets to see them except for the fact they’re all so busy as well. Lydia is constantly late for meals because she’s all the way down in some secret lab in Special Defense, Allison, Isaac, Cora, and Malia are midway through 13’s grueling Basic Training program, and Kira seems completely overwhelmed by the enormous task of updating District 13’s power grid. There are apparently only a couple engineers from 5 with the knowledge that is needed and they’re all spread very thin, not to mention the lack of proper parts.

But despite the fact he’s always on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion, Scott has never been happier. He loves his classes and learning from the doctors in the hospital. He loves seeing patients get better and the enormous well of knowledge the doctors draw from to diagnose illnesses and prescribe treatments. After a month into the program they start letting him do minor tasks like suturing and dressing wounds, changing IVs, and vaccinations, and the feeling of actually _helping_ , of being useful, and his actions actually sticking instead of being undone the next day due to lack of food or coal dust, is so satisfying sometimes Scott can’t stop grinning and gets weird looks from his classmates.

For a while, despite his crazy schedule, despite the war, despite his mother’s suspicion of Isaac, his father’s continued efforts to get him to talk to him, everything seems to be coming together. He has a stable routine, a great job and future in the hospital, and friends he would die for. He is content.

Scott supposes he should have known it was too good to be true.

 

* * *

 

Scott leaves dinner early to go take his clothes to the Laundry on Level 10. He’s been so busy recently and hasn’t washed them in a while, and even though he wears white scrubs while he’s in the hospital, they’ve started to smell. Well, according to Lydia, apparently. Scott’s no stranger to wearing unwashed clothes, especially during the winter, but he can tell that sort of thing isn’t really tolerated in 13. He’ll have to come back tomorrow to wash the ones he’s wearing now, but he can at least get one pair washed, the one with the beet stain on the elbow of the shirt.

He stops in his tracks when he enters the Laundry, surprised to see another person there. And not just any person. Peter Hale is sitting at the table in the corner with a bottle in one hand and a small glass cup in the other.

“Well, you’ve caught me,” he says after a moment, lifting his cup in Scott’s direction and taking another drink.

The liquid inside the glass is clear, but Scott doesn’t think it’s water, chest tightening.

“I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed here,” he says tersely, gripping his clear plastic container of dirty clothes.

“Not strictly,” Peter says, smiling at him lazily. “You won’t tell, will you? One has to have some comforts in this desolate place.”

Scott clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say anything. Ignore him, he tells himself, turning to the machine. It’s not any of his business. The only person Peter is hurting is himself.

He puts his clothes in and starts the machine, but before he can go, Peter speaks again.

“You seem to be fitting right in here,” Peter says, and when Scott turns around to look at him, he’s watching him closely.

“What?” Scott says. He heard him, but he doesn’t know what he means.

“You know how to work the machine all by yourself,” Peter says, gesturing at it. “A lot of your compatriots have had trouble, I know.”

“They just need practice,” Scott says, even though he’s pretty sure Peter’s talking about the people from District 10. There really aren’t a lot of people from District 12 here because the rebel Districts still need coal for energy, especially as winter approaches. “It is kind of complicated at first.”

Peter smiles. “Don’t be so modest,” he says. “I bet you’re a lot smarter than most people give you credit for.”

“Okay…?” Scott says, unsure how to respond to this. Peter doesn’t even know him. They’ve never spoken before this. “I’m going to-”

“Have a drink with me,” Peter interrupts him, pouring more of the clear alcohol into the glass cup and holding it up in Scott’s direction. “It’s so depressing drinking alone.”

“No thanks,” Scott says as politely as possible, but inside he feels queasy. He hates being around drunks, it always brings up bad childhood memories.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Peter chides. He stands up and makes his way towards Scott, forcing the glass into his hand before he can even protest. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

“I don’t-”

“Just try it,” Peter insists, leaning back against the laundry machine, smiling at Scott.

Scott brings the glass up to his lips and pretends to drink, grimacing in disgust when he pulls the glass away.

“Sorry,” he says, holding the glass back towards Peter. “It’s not really my thing.”

“You have to drink more than that,” Peter laughs, pushing the glass back towards him. His hand is very warm against Scott’s knuckles. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to drink much for it to take effect.”

So what, he can turn into a stumbling idiot with no self-control? Scott thinks in disgust. He tried being polite, but he is not interested in alcohol.

“Look,” he starts firmly. “I better get back t-”

“What’s going on here?” Allison says, and Scott turns around to see her at the door, staring at the two of them with shocked eyes.

“We were just having a drink,” Peter says, moving back towards the table. He picks up the bottle and smiles easily in Allison’s direction. “Would you like one too?”

Allison doesn’t reply, just looks between Scott and Peter with an unreadable expression on her face.

“No, I think we’d better go,” Scott says hastily, taking her presence as an opportunity to escape. “Thanks for the offer, bu-”

Allison lunges for him, grabbing the glass out of his hand and hurdles it in Peter’s direction with no warning. Peter ducks at the last second and the glass shatters on the wall behind him, sending shards of glass flying all over the floor.

“Allison!” Scott says, turning to stare at her in horror. “Wha-”

“You _ever_ ,” Allison snarls at Peter. “You ever come near him again, and I kill you, do you understand me?”

“Allison!” Scott repeats, appalled.

Peter doesn’t respond, but the look of shock slides off his face to be replaced by a cold mask anger. Behind him, the clear alcohol from the glass drips down the wall.

“What?” Scott gapes, looking between the two of them in confusion.”Allison, what are y-”

“C’mon, Scott,” she says, grabbing his wrist and drags him out of the room.

“Allison!” Scott protests as she walks quickly down the hallway towards the elevator. “Allison, what the _hell_ are you doing? You can’t just throw glass at people, you could have seriously injured him! Why did you do that?”

Allison, doesn’t respond, her grip painful on his wrist. She doesn’t look back and him and just continues to pull him down the hallway.

“Allison,” Scott says, trying to wrest his wrist away from her. “Stop, what are you doing?!”

They reach the elevator and she hits the button, turning back to look where they came from, like she thinks Peter might have followed them.

“Allison!” Scott says, starting to get angry. “What the hell was that?”

She ignores him, looking back towards the elevator impatiently, her jaw clenched tight.

“Allison, let go of me!” Scott orders, trying to pull out of her grip futilely. “Are you insane? Why did you do that?!”

The elevator doors open and she drags him inside, despite Scott’s best efforts to resist.

She lets go of his wrist when the doors close and Scott yanks away from her, blood rushing in his ears in anger. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doi-”

But before he can finish, she turns around and embraces him, shaking like a leaf and gasping for breath.

“Allison?” Scott says, anger draining away immediately. “Allison, what’s wrong?”

She gasps for breath, clutching him so hard it hurts. “Hit the button, hit the button!” she says desperately, and her tone of voice terrifies Scott so much that he immediately complies, hitting the button for Level 5.

The elevator starts to move upwards and Scott wraps his arms around her, starting to freak out himself at her obvious terror.

“Allison?” he whispers gently. “Allison, what’s wrong?”

“You have to promise me you’ll stay away from him!” Allison says desperately, breaths coming harsh and fast against his ear. “Don’t ever go near him again, Scott, please, you have to promise!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Scott says, not thinking much about what he’s saying, just wanting her to stop shaking like this. He’s never seen her so terrified. “Allison, I promise, I do!”

The elevator comes to a stop at Level 5 and when the doors open, Allison starts to sob.

She sags against his body, hiding her face in his shoulder and Scott’s mouth drops open stupidly, completely stunned by her reaction.

What’s going on? he thinks panickedly, holding her close. Allison doesn’t cry. Allison _does not_ cry.

“Allison, please,” he says, voice shaking. “Please just...okay, okay, it’s going to be okay, alright, I promise.”

Allison doesn’t give any indication that she hears him and continues to weep, fingers gripping the sides of his shirt tightly.

The elevator doors start to close again and Scott reaches out on instinct to stop them. “Okay, okay, we’re going to go back to the room, alright?” he says gently, walking her backwards out of the elevator.

Allison keeps her face pressed into his shoulder as they make their way down the hallway to her and Isaac’s compartment, crying quietly, and Scott doesn’t know what to do other than to hold her close and try not to panic even more than he already is.

“Okay, we’re here, let’s go inside,” he say, opening the door with one hand and holding her to the side of his body with his other.

Isaac is lying on the bed with his eyes closed, and he scrambles into a seated position when they enter the room, staring at Allison with a shocked expression on his face.

“Here, here, sit down,” Scott says, leading her to the foot of the bed and sitting down beside her, keeping his arm wrapped firmly around her waist. “Allison, Allison, what’s wrong?”

She shudders, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. Her nose is running and she sniffs audibly before reaching up to wipe her nose on her gray sleeve.

Scott looks at Isaac in for answers, but finds none. Isaac looks just as bewildered as he is, staring at Allison with wide, alarmed eyes.

Allison takes a series of deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, while Scott rubs her back gently, unsure of what else he’s supposed to do.

Just as soon as she seems to have stopped crying, she rockets to her feet, nearly knocking Scott in the head.

“Peter Hale,” she says furiously, wiping away the tears from her face as she turns to face them. “He’s...you have to stay away him.”

“What’d he do?” Isaac asks, still looking at Allison like she’s a bomb that might go off at any second.

“I...nothing,” Scott says, worried about upsetting Allison further, but really not understanding what happened. “I don’t understand. I mean, he was drinking, but he didn’t do anything.”

“He was trying to...he was trying to,” Allison spits, so angry it looks like she’s having difficulty getting the words out. “He, I should have known, when Lydia first saw him, I should have known, but I never thought-”

“Allison, you have to explain, I don’t understand,” Scott says, looking to Isaac for help. “You’re not making any sense, he didn’t _do_ anything.”

“Because I came in!” Allison shouts, eyes filling with tears again. “Do you have any idea what he would have done to you if I hadn’t?”

“No,” Scott says, though part of him shrinks at her yelling. “Allison, what are _talking_ about?”

“Did he attack you?” Isaac says, looking very worried.

“ _No_ ,” Scott exclaims. “No, he was just drinking and offered me a drink and I said no.”

Allison’s face crumples a little and she brings up one hand to cover her face. Scott turns to look at her, pity, helplessness, and frustration at war within him. Why won’t she just explain?

“He _what_?” Isaac says dangerously.

His face is taut and white when Scott turns to look at him, and his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply.

“He was trying to…” Isaac says to Allison, very, very slowly.

She nods, still covering her face with her hand.

“What?” Scott says loudly. “Will someone please explain what’s going on?!”

It’s freaking him out. Why are they acting like this? How could Isaac possibly know what happened, he wasn’t even _there_.

There is a long pause and then Isaac turns to look at him, apparently realizing Allison isn’t going to say anything.

“He was trying to...to take advantage of you, Scott,” he says finally, voice very quiet.

“What?” Scott says, actually confused for a second, before realizing what he means. “No, he wasn’t. He just...he just offered me a drink.”

“Yeah, they...older guys do that sometimes,” Isaac mutters, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair nervously. He doesn’t seem to want to look at Scott. “They get you drunk and then, you know…”

“I don’t think…” Scott says, heart hammering in his chest. His face feels very hot. “But I’m...I’m a boy.”

Isaac looks up at that, frowning a little. “Yeah? You are, I mean, that’s...kind of the point. Except what did you say about Lydia?” he says, turning to Allison. “You think, he…”

“I saw her face when she saw him,” Allison says tightly, finally lowering her hand. Her shoulders are still shaking. “That’s how they know each other.”

“You think he...he did something to her?” Scott says tremulously, feeling several steps behind. This couldn’t be right, could it? This can’t be happening. He never thought, he never suspected, not for a second…

“I won’t let him touch you,” Allison says, looking anguished. She comes back to stand in front of him and leans down, cupping his face in her hands. “I swear, I won’t let him come near you.”

Scott doesn’t know what to say to this. He feels very detached from this situation. “I left my clothes in the Laundry,” he suddenly remembers. “I have to go back and get them. They’ll be done soon.”

Panic shoots through him without warning at the thought. What if Peter’s still there? He inhales and exhales sharply and feels his chest tightening up. No, he can’t have an asthma attack now! He hasn’t had one since he came to 13, so he doesn’t carry the inhaler he was requisitioned. It’s still in his dresser in his compartment.

“I, um,” Scott says, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing. “I’d better go. I should probably, I didn’t take a shower yet, and my mother-”

“No, Scott, you have to stay here!” Allison exclaims, voice full of fear. She sits down at his side and wraps her arms around his waist, as if to keep him on the bed. “Stay with us.”

Does it matter? Scott thinks with another shock of panic. The doors in 13 only lock from the outside. He’s no safer here than in his room.

He has an asthma attack in full force then, and by the time it’s over he’s too exhausted to protest when Allison tucks him into bed and pulls him close to her chest. Isaac shifts to lie down behind him, pressing his nose into Scott’s neck as the lights go off. His heart is still racing in his chest, forestalling sleep, and Scott looks up at the evil eye on the ceiling and does not close his eyes.

He doesn't sleep well. His chest feels too tight, heart hammering inside it for far longer than makes sense. He keeps thinking about how quickly things went wrong. He'd just been doing laundry. _Laundry_. How could he...how could he have known when he walked through the door that…

He can't think of anything that he did wrong, but it must have been something because both Allison and Isaac knew before he did what had nearly happened.

What would have happened if Allison hadn't come to find him? Scott thinks in horror, skin crawling. He doesn't want to think about it, but he can't help it. Would Peter have just...attacked him after he refused to drink? Peter won the Games almost twenty years ago, but Scott has no doubt he could have done anything to him. No one else was there and the hallways were empty because everyone was still at dinner. Scott had no chance.

He shudders, curling into himself further, and knocks his forearm against Isaac in the narrow bed. Isaac lets out a sleepy grunt and shifts.

“Scott?” he mumbles after a second. “You awake?”

Scott doesn't reply and squeezes his eyes shut, digging his nails into his palms. Don't think about it, he tells himself. There are so many things you don't think about, this is just one more.

But what ifs keep running through his mind, each more horrible than the last. He's never imagined being raped before, but now he can't seem to stop. How is he supposed to live with this? When Peter is still out there. What if he comes after him again?

“Scott?” Isaac whispers. He puts his hand on Scott's shoulder and then leans down to press his forehead against Scott's. “Hey.”

Don't, Scott thinks, don't look at me. He feels his lungs constricting, his breaths getting quicker and shallower. There are tears on his cheeks, and he's glad it's so dark that Isaac can't see them.

“‘m fine,” he says breathlessly. “Go back to sleep.”

He can't worry about what Isaac thinks of him now. He wishes he would go back to sleep. He wishes he could just calm down, be rational. Nothing even happened, stop being so sensitive! Why is he always so weak?

“Scott,” Isaac says, sounding scared. He pulls Scott into him and holds him close as Scott starts to cry silently, gripping Isaac's shoulders tightly.

Allison wakes up around the time his tears turn into another asthma attack, and nearly goes to get someone from the hospital as his breaths become shorter and shorter, but thankfully his lungs start cooperating again before she leaves. He falls back into a fitful sleep once he starts breathing again and thankfully does not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter offers Scott alcohol and tries to pressure him into drinking it when he refuses. Scott repeatedly says he does not want to drink before they are eventually interrupted. He does not realize what Peter's intentions were until it is pointed out to him later.
> 
> \--
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! Life has gotten really busy, so I still haven't finished this story yet, but I'm still working on it, I promise. Please comment!


	15. The Play

The next morning is terrible. Scott is exhausted and his body aches from his asthma attacks last night. He's filled with dread every step of the way to breakfast, and Isaac and Allison aren't helping by the way they keep looking at him like he might fall apart at any second. His mother is livid that he spent the night with Isaac and Allison, though she doesn't say anything in front of the others, and Scott can barely eat his breakfast he's so nauseated.

He doesn't see Peter, but that doesn't mean he isn't there. Scott makes a conscious effort not to look for him, keeping his eyes on his food while he eats. He manages to avoid his mother on the way out, completely uninterested in a lecture and insists on walking to his morning in the Education Center alone.

His classes are somewhat of a relief after that. They keep his mind occupied and the anxious feeling in his chest fades slightly as he occupies himself with notetaking.

But he feels shaky and sick the second they break for lunch, and decides to go to the hospital an hour early. A janitor is mopping the locker room floor as he changes into his white scrubs. It's just the two of them in the room and Scott nearly trips over his trousers trying to get dressed as quickly as possible, even though the man never so much as glances at him.

He sits with an old woman in the room at the end of the hall who's so addled with age that she thinks he's her son and listens attentively to her complain about the nurses. Hopefully, it's not his mother she's talking about, though he doubts any nurse in this hospital has been stealing the woman's bedpan.

His stomach has just started grumbling when an orderly says that his presence is requested at the front. Cora, Kira, and Malia are waiting for him at reception, and they all look relieved when they spot him.

“They you are,” Cora says in annoyance.

“What's going on?” Scott asks, surprised at their presence. He thought it would be Isaac and Allison coming to see why hadn't come to lunch.

“Your stupid boyfriend attacked my uncle in the middle of the Dining Hall,” Cora says.

“What?!”

“It's true,” Kira says. “I don't know what happened, none of us saw it, but he just went after him.”

“And got his ass kicked,” Malia adds without much interest.

“What, where is he now?” Scott says, trying not to panic. He hadn't even considered...if anyone was to go after Peter he thought it would be Allison. Isaac had been so calm last night. What happened?

“The guards took him and Cora’s uncle away,” Kira says quickly. “I don't think either of them were badly hurt. They also took Allison and Lydia for questioning because they were sitting with him when it happened. They're probably at Internal Disputes on Level 14.”

“Okay, thank you for telling me,” Scott says, heading for the door.

“Hey, wait, what are you going to do?” Cora calls after him. “Do you know what happened?”

His mother is coming down the hall towards him from the elevator when he walks out the door.

“Scott!” she exclaims. “Did they tell you-what's going on?”

“I don't know, but I'm to find out now,” Scott says, approaching her quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, but-”

“I have to go, I'll tell you later,” Scott says, even though he's fairly sure he won't. He passes her and breaks into a jog for the elevator. It's still there and opens immediately when he presses the button. He sags back against the wall as the doors close, breathing heavily, and then jumps when a hand slams between the closing doors.

“Where are you going?” Cora demands, pulling open the door.

“Level 14,” Scott says, giving her a confused look.

“We'll come with you,” Kira says, sliding past Cora into the elevator.

“What happened?” Cora demands, hitting the button for Level 14.

The doors close and all three girls turn to look at him.

“It's...it's my fault,” Scott says uncomfortably, heart pounding in his chest. “He did it because I...I'll, if I explain, maybe they won't be so hard on him.”

“What do you mean? What happened?” Cora asks again.

“What did he do?” Malia asks.

“It doesn't matter,” Scott says shortly. They'll never believe him. He doesn't have any proof and even if he did, Peter never actually touched him.

“What do you mean it doesn't matter?” Cora says crossly.

“Look, thank you for coming to get me, but I don't think you want to get involved,” Scott says, mostly speaking to Kira.

The elevator pauses for a moment in its descent and shifts to traveling to the right. He takes a deep breath and wills it to go faster.

“What the hell is your problem?” Cora snaps. “ _Isaac_ attacked my uncle completely out of nowhere. If you know something then tell me!”

“Oh, so you do know our names!” Scott snaps back, losing his temper. “Mind your own business!”

“Mind my ow-” Cora splutters in shock, but then the doors open, and Scott exits the elevator without a second glance.

He's never been on Level 14 before, but it's set up similarly to the hospital, with a reception desk right in front of the elevator.

“I'm here to see Isaac Lahey,” he says to the man at the desk quickly, nervousness squirming in his stomach. “I was told he was brought here.”

The man clicks a couple thing on his computer and only then looks up at Scott. “I'm afraid I can't comment on open cases,” he says boredly. “You can come back tomorrow if you want a status update.”

“ _Tomorrow?_ ” Cora says from behind him, sounding shocked.

“No, I think I can help,” Scott says desperately. “I mean, I can help explain what happened.”

The receptionist looks skeptical, but picks up the phone. Before he can dial a number, however, Allison and Lydia come out from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway, accompanied by Parrish.

“Hey, what's going on?” Scott calls, racing around the desk towards them.

“You are not allowed behind here, Soldier!” the receptionist says, but Scott ignores him.

“You tell me,” Lydia says, not looking particularly concerned. “As I've been saying for the last half an hour, I don't know anything.”

“You really shouldn't be back here,” Parrish says as Scott approaches. “These two are free to go now, so you sh-”

“What happened?” Scott asks Allison. “Where's Isaac?”

“I don't know,” she says dully. She looks very tired and defeated.

“Soldier Lahey has been taken down to Detention until his punishment is decided,” Parrish explains. “Now, please-”

“No, listen, it's not his fault!” Scott exclaims. “I came to explain…” He turns to Allison. “Did you tell them?”

Her eyes widen and she looks extremely alarmed. Scott takes that as a no.

“Tell us what?” Parrish asks suspiciously.

“We ran into Peter last night at the Laundry-”

“Scott, don't-” Allison bursts out, grabbing his forearm tightly.

“It's okay,” he reassures her before turning back to Parrish. “We ran into him last night in the Laundry. Isaac, Allison, and I. He was drinking. Heavily.”

“Drinking alcohol?!” Parrish exclaims, looking appalled.

“Yeah,” Scott says, trying to keep his expression from cracking. “We tried to tell him alcohol is forbidden here, but that just made him mad. He threatened to hurt us if we told anyone and some other very...inappropriate threats.”

“What do you mean inappropriate?” Parrish asks, while Allison continues to cling to his arm.

“I...they were...sexual,” Scott says uncomfortably, aware of all eyes on him.He really wishes they weren't doing in the hallway. “I mean, I guess all those rumors about him are true. Anyway it really freaked us out, so we left, but then after breakfast he threatened Isaac again. I don't know what happened at lunch, but that's why Isaac…”

“Are you serious?” Cora says, looking shocked. “C'mon, there's no way my uncle…”

“Look, I know Isaac shouldn't have attacked him, but he was just trying to protect us,” Scott tells Parrish earnestly. “We didn't think anyone would believe us.”

“What kind of rumors?” Parrish asks slowly, looking extremely disturbed.

“I mean, I don't know if they're true…” Scott prevaricates. “But I have heard some things about...deviant behavior. In the Capitol, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Cora demands while Parrish’s expression deepens in disgust.

“I'll need to report this,” Parrish says slowly, turning back to the room from where he came.

“I know!” Scott says quickly. “But before that can you let Isaac out? I'm worried...it sounded like Peter hurt him pretty badly.”

“That's against protocol,” Parrish says seriously. “I need to investigate these claims first.”

“I understand, but can I just take him to the hospital? There's nowhere he can go,” Scott says, sick at the thought of Isaac being locked up until they figure out what really happened. “And he's so hurt, I promise I'll keep an eye on him.”

“I'm sorry, that's just not possible,” Parrish replies, crossing his arms over his black vest.

“You really won't let him go to the hospital?” Lydia says disbelievingly. “What's the worst he can do, bleed on someone?”

“Look, I'm sorry, we have protocol for these types of situations,” Parrish says, starting to look aggrieved. “I can't release your friend until we investigate Peter Hale.”

“I know, but couldn't you make an exception?” Scott pleads. It's a gamble, but… “We won't tell anyone you helped us, I promise. We just want to make sure our friend is okay.”

Parrish visibly wavers. “I'm sorry, but I don't think…”

“I know it's not ideal, but I just want to get his injuries checked out,” Scott presses. “I work in the hospital; sometimes injuries don't look as bad as they really are and they can progress quickly. The right hit can kill someone within hours if it isn't treated properly.”

“I...well, that's,” Parrish says, looking disconcerted. District 13 must not have that many fist fights. “I suppose it'll be alright if I escort you.”

“Thank you,” Scott says genuinely, trying not to sag in relief. “I really appreciate it.”

Parrish looks a little surprised at this and then nods seriously. “I'll just make a log of this,” he says and heads back into the room.

Allison's hand shakes on his arm and Scott glances at her to see her watching him with surprising intensity.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

She nods. He wants to hold her, but he doesn't think she would like that in front of the others.

“What rumors are you talking about?” Cora asks, white-faced. “I haven't...what exactly have you heard?”

“I'm not talking about this right now,” Scott says shortly. He didn't want her to be here for this and he doesn't want to drag her uncle's name through the mud in front of her more than he has to.

“Whatever you heard isn't true,” Cora continues. “This is just some misun-”

“Oh, they're true alright,” Lydia interjects bitterly.

They all turn to look at her, but Lydia is looking idly down the hall and does not meet their gaze.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cora asks slowly, but she looks like she already knows what it means.

Parrish comes back into the hallway before Lydia can reply. Thankfully he doesn't look like he's changed his mind, and Scott follows him quickly back to the elevator, throat dry with anticipation. He was exaggerating Isaac's injuries to make a point, but he has no idea what Isaac's condition actually is. He's too afraid to ask Allison or Lydia what he looked like when they took him away.

“Look, you don't have to come,” Scott tells the others. He wants to give them an out before this gets even messier. “You should go back to work before you get in trouble.”

“No, of course we'll come with you!” Kira exclaims, even though she looks very grim.

“You should want us to come with you,” Lydia says bitingly, eyes fixed on the screen that informs them of their elevator’s arrival in >1 minute. “If you go down to Detention by yourself you might never come out.”

Parrish gives her an irritated look, but doesn't bother to disagree.

“I just don't want you to-”

“We're coming, shut up,” Cora says shortly, glaring at him.

Well, he guesses that's that. Scott turns to look at Malia, who shrugs carelessly.

“It's better than drills,” she says.

The elevator opens and Scott enters quickly. Allison comes to stand beside him in the back and he reaches out to clasp her hand in his. She doesn't look at him, but grips it back and they both turn to watch Parrish press the button for Level 39 and insert a key in key slot at the top of the panel of numbers.

The elevator moves swiftly downwards and Scott's ears pop once they reach Level 30.

The doors open to reveal the same white hallways that populate 13, with one stark contrast. All the doors along the walls are a deep red instead of the usual gray and Scott immediately feels the hair on the back of his neck rise for reasons he doesn't understand.

“This way,” Parrish says, leading the way right down the hallway. “He's in 3908.”

Scott immediately looks to the numbers on the compartments and sees the one nearest to him is only 3537. He resists the urge to speed up holds onto Allison's hand tighter to prevent from shaking. They're at 3796 when a woman in a guard uniform steps out of a gray door in front of them.

“Soldier Parrish?” she says startled. “What are you doing here? I wasn't notified of your arrival.”

“Last minute change,” Parrish says. “I'm here to release the prisoner in 3908.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't receive authorization for that,” she says glancing back to the room she came from. Then she looks at them more closely. “Soldier Parrish, who are these people? They don't have clearance to be on this Level.”

“You have something of mine,” Allison says angrily. “And I want it back.”

“Allison!” Scott hisses, holding onto her hand tighter, afraid she might lunge forward and attack the woman.

“I'm authorizing it,” Parrish says firmly, while the guard gives Allison an appalled look. “He requires medical attention, that's why we didn't have time to go through the proper channels.”

“Really?” the guard says, but she's already reaching for a keycard on the pocket of her vest. “Looked like all he had was a broken nose to me.”

Scott's heart leaps in his throat, but he seals his mouth shut before he can say anything he'll regret.

The guard walks ahead of them towards door 3908 and scans her key. Scott hears the sound of heavy metal locks disengaging and then she pulls open the door.

Without any forethought, Scott lets go of Allison’s hand and rushes inside. It’s a compact room with a domed ceiling and an unfinished concrete floor. Isaac is shackled to the wall, shirtless, with dried blood sticking to his face and neck, bruises a stark contrast to his pale scarred skin. He shrinks back against the wall automatically at the sight of Scott, but then his eyes widen in recognition.

“Scott?” he says, voice distorted from what is clearly a broken nose.

Scott can’t reply, just stares at his beaten body, horror invading his whole being. This is his fault. He is the reason for Isaac’s pain.

Allison comes in behind him, but does not freeze at the sight of Isaac. She passes Scott and steps over the drain in the center of the floor to stand in front of Isaac, touching the side of his face carefully. Isaac shudders and closes his eyes, which are red and swollen from crying.

“Unshackle him,” Scott hears his own voice say, as if from very far away, unable to take his eyes off Isaac even for a second.

After a moment the guard steps around Scott as well and unlocks the shackles around Isaac’s wrists. Allison immediately embraces Isaac as he pitches forward and Scott has never felt so useless in his life as Isaac hides his face in her hair and sobs quietly.

Parrish escorts them back upstairs to the hospital where Scott splints Isaac’s broken nose and carefully checks his torso for broken ribs. Fortunately, the nose is the worst of it and Parrish leaves presently to deal with Peter.

Isaac is very quiet and barely says anything. Considering his past, Scott doesn’t think it’s from his fight with Peter, but rather District 13’s harsh tactics. Scott, too, feels sick at the thought of those rows and rows of compartments of Level 39. How many of them had people just like Isaac chained to their walls? How long would they have kept him in there if Scott had not intervened?

“We need to talk,” Cora says lowly, glancing at the door of the hospital room. Scott was surprised she stayed so long-he should have known there was an ulterior motive.

“Fine,” Scott says tightly. “Outside. I’ll be right back,” Scott tells Allison and Isaac as she adjusts the covers of the hospital bed around him.

Cora, Lydia, Kira, and Malia follow him outside the hospital room. There are a couple nurses speaking in low voices at the other end of the hallway, but it’s mostly empty.

“What kind of rumors have you heard about my uncle?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound angry. Instead she looks at him as if she really wants to know. Or rather, does not want to know at all, but is forcing herself to ask anyway.

“There aren’t any as far as I know,” Lydia says cooly. “How on earth did they reach 12?”

“Well, there certainly are now,” Scott says flatly.

“What are you saying?” Cora says, eyes widening.

Scott doesn’t want to be having this conversation. “I have to go back in there,” he says. “You should go to work now.”

“You lied?” Kira says, stunned.

“Of course I lied!” Scott says, inexplicably upset by the shocked look on her face. “Do you think they would have believed me if I told them what he tried t-” He pauses and forces himself to lower his voice before continuing. “No. I did what I had to do to make them suspicious. They’ll find the alcohol in his compartment, hopefully, and then send him to dry out ten floors down from here. If not…” He tries not to think about the consequences if they don’t send Peter away, running a hand through his hair nervously. “We’ll just have to be careful to stay away from him.”

“No problem,” Malia says, sounding disgusted.

“You lied…” Cora repeats blankly. Both she and Lydia look even more shocked than Kira does.

“Of course,” Lydia says slowly, recovering first. “Peter would never be so blatant.”

Cora looks at her sharply, opens his mouth, but then seems to lose her nerve and shuts it. “Right, I’m going back to Basic Training,” she says abruptly and turns on her heel.

Scott watches her walk down the hallway for a moment and then turns back to Kira and Malia. “I’m sorry,” Scott says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to get you involved in this.”

“What?” Malia says, looking confused at his apology. “Are you kidding? It’s better that we know.”

“Are you...are you okay?” Kira asks, looking very upset.

“Yeah,” Scott says and then feels a sudden jolt of shock at he realizes what she means. “No, it was. Nothing happened, he just...he was going to, but Allison...Just, keep away from him, okay?”

“Okay,” Kira says seriously, nodding.

“I should probably…” Scott says, gesturing back at the room, no idea how to end this conversation.

“Yeah, we should go too,” Malia says, looking over Kira in concern. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Kira follows her back towards the entrance of the hospital, but Lydia does not move. When Scott looks over at her she’s looking at him calculatingly.

“You,” she says slowly, “are a lot smarter than you look.”

“Thanks,” Scott says sarcastically, really not in the mood for her petty insults.

“So, what’s next? Are you planning to overthrow the rebel government?” she asks.

“What?” Scott says, looking around the mostly empty hallway as a reflex. “ _No_! Why would you say that?”

“Just wondering,” she says, unruffled. “Well, if you ever decide to, apparently I’m in.”

Scott stares at her, not sure what to make of this. “Look,” he says, deciding to move on for now. “Thanks for your help and...and even if it doesn’t work, I won’t let him near you, okay?”

He feels like vomiting at the thought of seeing Peter again and he can’t imagine what it must be like for Lydia. He has to protect her.

Her face softens and she swallows, looking down at his shoulder instead of at his face. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

“And if you ever need anything, you can come to me,” he says, struck suddenly by how small she seems.

“You know what’s funny?” she says, looking up at him with an odd expression on her face. “I actually believe that.”

She turns around and heads for the exit before Scott can think of what to reply. He watches her leave with a heavy weight in his stomach. Coming to District 13 must have been horrific. Finding out that Peter is here, on top of the fact that her parents are missing, possibly dead...Scott has no idea how she manages to keep it together.

He goes back into the hospital room before dark thoughts about what exactly Peter might have done to her consume him. Allison is sitting on the bed with Isaac in her lap, stroking his hair softly with one hand and rubbing his back with the other.

“It’s okay, baby,” she’s saying as he comes in, and the gentle tone of her voice makes Scott stop in his tracks. “You’re okay now.”

Isaac sniffs audibly and then winces at the strain on his nose. Scott is jolted out of his stupor and crosses the room to sit next to Allison on the side of the bed.

“How are you doing?” he asks Isaac gently.

“Yeah,” Isaac says quickly, reaching up to wipe his damp cheeks. “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t move from Allison’s lap, though, and Scott feels a pang of despair run through him. This is all his fault.

“Are you mad at me?” Isaac asks, looking up at Scott apprehensively.

“What? _No_!” Scott says, horrified. “No, Isaac, of course not!” He reaches to touch Isaac’s shoulder. “I just...I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I know,” Isaac says, looking down at his bruised knuckles. “It was pretty stupid.”

He doesn’t look up at Scott again, so Scott leans down to kiss his temple. He feels like his insides might vibrate out of his chest in both fear and relief. Does Isaac know how close he came to being locked up indefinitely? He probably does, but if not Scott doesn’t want to tell him. Scott feels his eyes sting with tears as he draws back, but unfortunately Isaac notices before he can blink them away.

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” Isaac asks, pushing himself up into a seated position, eyes burning with anger.

“ _No_ ,” Scott says, tears falling onto his cheeks and he feels his face contort without his consent. “No, Isaac, don’t, please, you can’t.”

Isaac leans forward to pull Scott into his arms, hooking his chin over Scott’s shoulder. “I will if you ask me to,” he says, voice shaking with emotion. “He’d deserve it. _No one_ gets to try to do that to you.”

Scott muffles his sob in Isaac’s shoulder and clutches his sides. Isaac lets out a pained hiss and Scott lets go immediately.

“Sorry!” he gasps, pulling back, cursing himself. How could he have forgotten about the bruises up and down his body?

“It’s fine,” Isaac says, pulling Scott back in again. “Just, c’mere.”

Scott gives in and sags into Isaac’s arms. It’s only mid-afternoon, but he’s so so tired. It feels like he blithely ate dinner with his family and friends weeks ago instead of last night.

“I’m okay,” he whispers. “Don’t do anything, alright? It’s not worth it.”

Isaac’s hands cup his face, and Scott closes his eyes at the sensation. He knows he shouldn’t be happy right now, but he’s so incredibly grateful to be cared for like this. He never thought...he never really thought anyone would.

He stays with Isaac as long as he can, but eventually a nurse comes in to check on him and Scott reluctantly heads to the locker room to change into his scrubs and join the other trainees in the morgue for lessons on how to do an autopsy. A lot of his classmates are grossed out, but the cadaver is an extremely old woman, and Scott has more than his fair share of experience with dead bodies back in 12. Her nudity bothers him more than the actual autopsy, because he doubts 13 asked her if it was okay that her body would be displayed like this for training new doctors.

The instructor is displeased at his lateness and gives him a suspicious look when he tells him he was at Internal Disputes, but thankfully does not decide to penalize him as punishment other than making him take the body to the incinerator after they’re done.

It’s dinner time by the time Scott done showering and he heads back to Isaac’s room, trying not to think about what it would mean if he finds it empty. Thankfully both Allison and Isaac are still there, the latter asleep in Allison’s lap.

“Hey,” he says, closing the door quietly behind him. “How’s he doing?”

“Fine,” she says, giving him a tired smile.

“You hear anything from Parrish?” Scott asks, sitting down at the foot of Isaac’s bed carefully.

She shakes her head. “No, no one’s been in here except for the nurse.”

“Okay,” Scott nods, trying not to panic. Shouldn't they have heard something by now? Or was it a good thing that they had bigger things to deal?

Isaac moans quietly in his sleep, shifting slightly and Allison rubs his back gently. “Shh,” she says. “It’s alright, Isaac. Sleep.”

Isaac stills after a moment and Scott feels his throat tighten with an emotion he can’t identify.

“You’re...you’re really good at that,” he says after a moment, eyes fixed on the way her thumb rubs over Isaac’s shoulder. He remembers the way she held him after the District 11 Tributes’ deaths during the Games, how gentle and soothing she’d been. How she took care of him.

She looks up at him with a odd look on her face, like she’s not quite sure what he means.

“I mean, you know, with him,” Scott says lamely, hoping she wasn’t insulted at the surprise in his voice.

Allison looks back down at Isaac’s head in her lap, legs shifting slightly under the blankets.

“It’s from a TV show,” she says finally, eyes still fixes on Isaac’s face.

“What?”

“A Capitol TV show,” she explains, looking up at him with a blank expression on her face that Scott knows well. It means she’s trying to hide any and all emotion. “I saw it at a family friend’s house when I was nine. The girl’s hair extensions come off during school and everyone makes fun of her. She goes home and cries in her room, and then her mother comes in and comforts her.”

“Oh,” Scott says. He doesn’t really know what else to say. That’s not...generally...that’s not how a normal person should learn that. But now that he thinks of it, District 2 people have always been so stern and rigid from what he’s seen of them. Maybe they were like that at home too. Maybe Allison’s mother would never have comforted her like that and that was why that scene stuck out to her, even nine years later.

“Well, you’re good at it,” he says finally, aware that he sounds like a faulty announcement. “It’s...nice.”

She smiles at him, almost shyly. “Thanks,” she says and strokes her fingers through Isaac’s hair fondly.

They leave briefly after the nurse comes in and tells them to go to dinner, stopping quickly at the Dining Hall to get their food and scarfing it down standing up next to the tray dispenser to the appalled looks of the District 13 citizens, making it very clear that this is just Not Done. It probably would have been easier to sit down for a couple minutes, but Scott doesn’t want to see his mother (he still hasn’t decided what to tell her). When they come back Parrish is standing at the foot of Isaac’s bed, reading something off a piece of paper.

“What’s going on?” Allison asks sharply, stepping forward to stand next to Isaac’s bed. Isaac looks very relieved at their presence, and Scott tries to give him a comforting look.

“Peter Hale was taken into custody this afternoon after multiple bottles of alcohol were found in his compartment,” Parrish tells them, looking up from his paper. “The investigation is still open, but Internal Disputes is willing to drop the charges against Isaac if he agrees to extra duties and 50 hours with an anger management counselor.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re dropping charges, that sounds like a punishment,” Allison says, narrowing her eyes at Parrish.

“What kind of extra duties?” Scott asks, sending Allison an alarmed look, because didn’t she remember where they just got Isaac out of?

“Most likely kitchen duties, cleaning, and minor maintenance,” Parrish says. “Probably all at night.”

“While he’s in Basic Tra-”

“Allison, don’t,” Scott says, and turns to Isaac. “What do you think?” he asks, and tries to convey _It could be so much worse_ with just his face.

Isaac looks between Allison and him uncertainly and then shrugs. “Fine, I guess. For how long?”

“Three months. That’ll be about how long you’ll meet with the counselor as well,” Parrish says.

“Anger management counselor,” Isaac says, grimace making the bruise under his eye even more prominent. “What is that, some kind of head doctor?”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Parrish says, and looks between the three of them seriously. “I know this must be different than what you’re used to in your home Districts, but you should know that you really got off easy here. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but we’ve had a bit of an alcohol problem ever since the 10’s arrived. We found a makeshift distillery in one of the maintenance shafts just last week. But if not for that and the fact that Isaac is an escaped Tribute, the normal punishment for attacking a fellow citizen, even if provoked, is several weeks in Detention.”

Scott feels himself pale. Alone, locked in that room for _weeks_?

“Right,” Isaac says, looking equally shocked.

“See to it that this doesn’t happen again,” Parrish tells him seriously, turning to leave. “They won’t be as lenient.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Soldier Parrish,” Scott as quickly as he makes for the door. “I know you didn’t have to get involved, but we really appreciate you believing us about Peter.”

“We’d be remiss not to investigate those kind of accusations,” Parrish says, but he looks pleased nonetheless. “And the other things you said, well, I can’t really comment, but we’ll be keeping an eye on him regardless of how the investigation goes. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you so much,” Scott says again, relief barrelling through him.

“It’s nothing, Soldier McCall,” Parrish says, smiling. “Have a good evening, all of you.”

He leaves and Scott makes the conscious effort to relax his shoulders. Isaac is safe. Peter will hopefully be put away for a long time.

“That was smart,” Allison says when he turns around to look at her and Isaac. “The way you spoke to him.”

“People are usually a lot more willing to hear you out if you're polite,” Scott says, wondering how exactly she doesn't know this. He can't see how a society would work if everyone was rude to each other all the time.

“You weren't just polite, though,” Isaac says, looking at Scott thoughtfully. “You made him want to help us.”

Scott frowns. “I didn't make him do anything.”

“You brought up the alcohol first, because you knew that's what he'd care about the most,” Allison says, watching him carefully. “Everything else was just implied. It was very well done.”

“Yeah, well, I had to give him a reason to get involved,” Scott says, slightly bashful at her impressed tone. “Most people don't bother to do anything unless it directly affects them.”

“You would, though,” Isaac says. “Get involved.”

He's looking at Scott with an expression Scott's not sure what to make of. It's very soft and far too grateful considering he's in a hospital bed because of him.

“Yeah,” Scott says for lack of any better alternative. “Well, I...self-preservation has never been my strong suit.”

He tries to make a joke out of it, but it doesn't come out particularly funny considering the circumstances of their meeting. It also sounds like something Stiles used to say to him.

“We'll take care of that for you,” Allison says, giving him a level look.

Scott feels his cheeks go hot at her unwavering stare and he looks away at the blank monitor just to the side of Isaac's hospital bed. He doesn't know how to respond to that.

“Did anyone say when you could be released?” Scott asks Isaac, trying to change the subject.

“No, no one said anything,” Isaac says. “I can probably just go, right? I mean, I've been cleared or whatever.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Scott asks, looking over him carefully. “Maybe you should eat first.”

“Not really hungry,” Isaac says with a shrug, but Scott goes to get him a small plate from the freezer in the lounge for patient meals anyway.

They go back to Allison and Isaac's room then, Isaac limping slightly, and Isaac curls up into his side on the bed. Scott's a little taken aback by the affection, though he's not sure why, but slings an arm around Isaac's back and leans his forehead against his shoulder.

Isaac shifts against him and then leans over to kiss Scott, his palm sweaty against Scott's cheek.

Scott groans softly and closes his eyes. He's so tired. He feels rather like a wrung out rag from the stress. He could probably sleep for days. The prospect of waking up tomorrow for another full day of classes and rounds seems insurmountable. It feels very nice to just lie here and be kissed.

“It was worth it,” Isaac says lowly.

Scott opens his eyes at that. Isaac is still very close, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. It takes him a minute to realize what he means.

“Don't say that,” Scott says hoarsely, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach.

“It was, though,” Isaac says with an inappropriate little grin. Behind him, Allison is pressed against Isaac's back, her arm tucked around his waist. She frowns a little when he makes eye contact with her, confused at his disagreement.

“All of it,” Isaac continues, pressing a sloppy kiss to Scott's neck. “The Games, everything.”

Scott's heart rate rockets upwards, pounding painfully in his chest. He feels lightheaded as Isaac pulls back, like he just lost his balance and had the wind knocked out of him.

How could he say that? Scott thinks, staring up at him blankly. Nothing was worth the Games. _Nothing_.

He feels his eyes burn with tears without warning and snaps them shut. He's so sick of crying. It's so humiliating, why is he always like this?

“Scott?” Allison says as he struggles to contain his tears, face twisted up almost painfully to prevent any sound from escaping his mouth.

He ducks down to hide his face in Isaac’s shoulder, forcing himself to take deep slow breaths to calm his revolting insides.

“Scott?” Isaac says in a very small voice, putting his hand on the center of Scott’s back.

“M’okay,” he mumbles, clenching his jaw and hands tight to prevent from shaking. Calm down, he tells himself. Don’t overreact. Just breathe.

“Scott?” Isaac repeats as Scott forces his body to loosen vertebrae by vertebrae. “I didn’t...I don’t…”

Scott reaches up to touch him, missing the side of his face and coming into contact with his neck instead, but it has the desired effect of causing Isaac to fall silent. He feels the bed shift as Allison sits up, but she doesn’t say anything, and Scott continues to breathe calmly and forces down the despair welling up in his chest, threatening to drown him. He keeps his eyes shut even as Isaac pulls him closer, leaning his forehead down against the top of Scott’s head and stroking the pads of his fingers on Scott’s neck.

This is always his problem, Scott thinks numbly, letting his body go limp against Isaac’s. He’s always been like this, so sensitive, so easily made miserable for days by just a few words, by a simple mistake, by the injury or death of a stranger. He’s always felt so disconnected from other people because of it, because they didn’t seem to care like he did. He’s always hidden it, suffered in silence until time mended the hurt, because he knew it wasn’t normal. He never wanted to worry his mother and Stiles never understood. They’d never known about the nights he’d lain awake, tormented by the memories of his father’s shouts, the pained moans of a miner dying under his hands, the sight of children from the community home with sunken cheeks and distended bellies. It was pathetic, even the descriptions of the original rebellion against the Capitol in their history classes made him sick to his stomach.

And the Games...the less said about the Games the better. He’d always avoided all but the mandatory viewings, and still he could barely sleep during those weeks even when it hadn’t been Stiles in the Arena.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac whispers.

“It’s okay,” Scott says tiredly. “I just...sometimes I just get…”

He trails off, not knowing how to describe it. Sad? Anxious? It all sounds so dumb.

It’s just...nothing good could come from the Games. _Nothing_. That wasn’t how it worked, all they were was pure horror. How could Isaac say anything was worth them? Scott couldn’t think that, not for a second. He’d go insane.

“Sorry,” he whispers. He shouldn’t make this all about him, he knows. Isaac is the one who’s been through hell today. Scott should be taking care of him, not the other way around. “Sometimes I’m like this, I guess.”

A hand comes to rest on his head, Allison’s by the size, and Scott lets his eyes slip shut as she runs her hand through his hair.

“What will help?” she asks. “A distraction?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, relieved she understands. He rolls back onto his side and opens his eyes to look up at her.

“Do you want to have sex?” she asks plainly.

Scott blinks at her, startled. “Uh, no,” he says awkwardly, feeling a flush creeping up his neck. The thought had not even occurred to him. “I'm not really...I'm fine.”

He's hardly in the mood after the past twenty four hours and he's kind of weirded out that it's her first thought.

By the faint frowning expression on her face, Allison seems to be weirded out as well. She looks bemused at this response.

“Tell me a story,” he says. “Something good.”

“A story?” she says, still looking confused.

“From 2,” Scott says.

“I…” she says uncertainly. “I'm not sure I have any good stories.”

“I have one!” Isaac says excitedly, but then his grin slips. “But it involves a Peacekeeper getting crushed to death by a red oak, so you probably wouldn't like it.”

“Really?” Allison says, looking unimpressed.

“He deserved it,” Isaac says flippantly, rolling his eyes. “And we all pretended we didn't see it, so no one got in trouble. Well, besides extra work detail for six months.”

“So you chopped down trees?” Scott asks, even though they already had this conversation in the Games. “What about school?”

“We only went in the afternoon,” Isaac says. “And not at all in the winter. I don't know why you 12’s don't work until you're eighteen, it's not like we couldn't use more coal.”

“We don't use coal,” Allison says, putting her hand carefully on Isaac's waist. “Most of Panem doesn't. Isn't it really dirty?”

Scott blinks at her. The way she said that...“You've never seen coal before?”

“No,” Allison says. “Charcoal, but just for drawing.”

“You draw?” Isaac says, turning back to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Allison says shortly. At Scott's curious look she shrugs uncomfortably. “I wasn't very good at it.”

“What about paints?” Isaac asks, looking at her interestedly. “Did you have one of those sets with all the bright colors?”

Allison looks at him dubiously, like she thinks he might be making fun of her. “Watercolors,” she admits. “But I wasn't very good with those either.”

“What _were_ you good at?”

“Archery and knife throwing,” Allison shoots back harshly, taking her hand off of Isaac's waist.

Isaac looks shocked at her sudden harsh tone, light eyes widening.

Allison looks away, mouth twisted in a scowl. Scott looks between them uneasily, unsure which one he should be comforting and which one he should be admonishing.

“Well, I don't think I'd be very good at art,” Isaac says carefully. “I'd probably, you know, just make a mess.”

Allison glares down at the tile floor. “It was a waste of time anyway,” she says and lies back down on the bed again, hooking her chin over Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac looks down at her in surprise and then maneuvers his arm around her back after a moment. Allison says nothing, but lets out a soft sigh, body sagging into the mattress.

“Do you have any good stories?” Allison asks after a moment, voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

“I...don’t know,” Scott says. He guesses it is hard to think of something on the spot like that. “I mean, my life was pretty boring before all of this.”

He tries to think of something, but all that comes to mind is helping people with his mom and dumb jokes he and Stiles used to make when they were little that were never funny to anyone else but them. The bad stories stand out so much more, are so much bigger. In comparison, the rest of Scott’s life just seems...neutral.

That’s pretty depressing, isn’t it?  

“What did you do for fun?” Isaac asks. At Scott's blank look he elaborates. “Did you go to any pubs?”

“We had the Hob,” Scott says. “That's where they had the black market, though. People our age didn't usually go there.” Not that he would know. Scott always avoided the Hob because his father practically lived there after his mother kicked him out, but doubly so after his mother told him what all the hollow-eyed women with unbuttoned dresses were selling, and worse, how many of their neighbors were buying. They’re mostly widows, husbands dead in a mine accident, with no other way to bring in income and take care of their children than to sell themselves at the Hob, or to Adrian Harris, the Head Peacekeeper. Sometimes they came to his mother to end a pregnancy, but more often than not, after a beating.

He wonders what 12 is like now that they're under rebel control. It's strange how he hadn't really thought about it until now. Who was in charge, the mayor? Unlikely. Someone had to be considering they were still producing coal. But maybe things weren't that different. He doubted 13 cared as long as they were contributing to the war effort.

What does it say about him that he feels no pang of longing, no homesickness at the thought of 12? The black cinder streets, small Seam shacks made of brick and tin, the dry goods store run by the widow Tara Graeme across from the mine entrance. The windowless school rooms, cobbled streets of the central square and merchant district, and the cold empty houses of Victors Village.

“Sneaking outside the fences was kind of fun,” Scott admits. “It was kind of scary at first, but it was nice during the warmer months.”

“You snuck outside the fences?” Isaac says disbelievingly. “How?”

“They never really turned them on by us,” Scott explains. “So I'd go out to the far east end of the District and sneak into the meadow to look for food or medicinal plants. I'd go into the woods sometimes, too.”

“What kind of Peacekeepers did you have in 12?” Allison says, looking unimpressed. “How could they not notice people sneaking out?”

“It wasn't really that many people,” Scott says, and then realizes where she's confused. “It wasn't something people did for fun or anything. Most people would never think of going beyond the fences.” He tries to think of the people he's run into over the years. “Maybe eight people went out into the meadow regularly. And then there were two or three that would hunt in the woods and sell their catches in the Hob.”

“Oh,” Allison says.

“I was pretty busy a lot,” Scott says, realizing he never answered Isaac's question and trying to stepside the fact that he didn't really ever do anything fun because he never had any friends other than Stiles. And Theo for a while there, but considering the fact that he turned out to be the kind of creep that cut open small animals while they were still alive and told lies to get him and Stiles to fight, Scott does not really count him. He died of an asthma attack in seventh grade, and Stiles crowed gleely for days, oblivious to Scott's discomfort until Scott finally yelled at him to stop being so happy about something that could easily happen to him. “Sometimes I'd go sell herbs to Deaton and we'd play chess.”

Stiles's dad had been the one who'd initially taught him the game, but Stiles had grown bored of it after a while and got so annoyed when Scott wanted to play with his dad that eventually Scott pretended to get bored with it as well. After they both died, Scott started to play with Deaton occasionally. At first he worried about wasting his time (Deaton was a lot better than he was), but Deaton seemed to enjoy teaching him different strategies and going over the game afterwards. Scott suspected he was very lonely. To this day, he still doesn't know anyone else in 12 Deaton was the least bit friendly with.

“Do you miss home?” Scott asks, unable to help wondering if he's the only one who doesn't.

“I miss being outside,” Isaac says. “Otherwise…” He shrugs. “It's nicer here. I always had to fight for food in the community home. And the showers are way better.”

“You would like the showers,” Allison mutters.

“Not like that,” Isaac protests. “I mean, on paper communal showers sound great, but in reality 80% of the people you definitely don't want to be seeing naked.”

Scott snorts with laughter despite himself.

“ _You_ are part of the other 20%,” Isaac informs him. “You look really hot when you're wet.”

“When have you ever seen me wet?”

“When we were washing off in the river in the Arena. Right before those 6’s tried to kill us,” Isaac says.

“That was right after you _met_ me,” Scott says, shocked by this revelation.

“So?”

“I just...I thought you didn't like me that much,” Scott says without thinking, remembering Isaac's insults and hostility.

Isaac shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I was kind of an idiot,” he says, avoiding Scott's eyes.

“I miss decent amenities,” Allison says suddenly, continuing their earlier line of conversation. “And clothes that actually fit.”

“Is this about your teeth again?” Isaac asks, squinting at her.

“You'll see what I mean when our teeth start to rot,” Allison mutters.

“Why are you people so obsessed with your teeth?” Isaac asks. “Your's are weirdly straight, don't tell me you had surgery to make them like that.”

“Not surgery, braces.”

“Braces?” Scott says thinking of the metal contraption one of the older miners wore on his leg after it was badly injured in a cave-in to help him walk. “On your _teeth_?”

“They're transparent, it's not like anyone can see them,” Allison replies, surprised by his reaction.

“But _why_?” Isaac says. “I mean, I guess if they're really crooked I can see them causing problems, but otherwise why bother?”

“We just do,” Allison says boredly.

“Yeah, because you don't have anything better to do,” Isaac says, rolling his eyes. “What about my teeth? Do you think they're gross?”

“Yes,” Allison says baldly. “They're all yellow. Because you won't brush them.”

“And yet somehow, I survive.”

“I've been trying,” Scott offers, because he has after overhearing some of the nurses sharing horror stories about the terrible condition of their patients’ teeth from District 10. “I forget sometimes, though.”

“So that's it?” Isaac asks, maneuvering over onto his stomach. “What about the food? Or your parents?”

Scott gives him a shocked look. They've never spoken about Allison's parents before. Allison hasn't even _mentioned_ them. He worried about it when they first came to 13, what she must be feeling being on the opposite side of the war as her entire family. But she'd shown no indication of any concern for them, and after a while Scott stopped wondering. He hasn't thought about them in weeks.

Allison shrugs. “The food is pretty bland here,” she agrees. She doesn't make eye contact with either of them.

Isaac opens his mouth, but Scott nudges him in the side with his elbow and shakes his head slightly when he turns to look at him.

“The people here are better,” Allison continues, not noticing or not acknowledging their exchange.

“You really...okay, no, compared to 2 I can see that,” Isaac responds.

“They're sensible here,” Allison elaborates, finally raising her eyes to look at Isaac. “As long as you do what you're supposed to, everyone leaves you alone.”

“They don't leave you alone in 2?” Scott says, unsure of what she means.

“It's very competitive,” Allison explains. “Everyone is always watching everyone else.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Isaac says, and winces a bit as he shifts on the bed.

“It is,” Allison says after a beat and then leans her head down against Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac's eyes slide shut and he yawns. Scott follows suit and Isaac grins at him.

“Stay here tonight?” he asks.

“‘Course,” Scott says immediately, even though he knows his mother is not going to be happy.

Isaac smiles sleepily and puts his arm over Scott's side. Scott watches him close his eyes. The skin under left eye is now a dark purple and his nose is still bright red, but he doesn't seem to be in much pain. And he certainly seems back to his usual self.

He's too exhausted to think about tomorrow, and he's asleep before the lights shut off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scotttttttt~❤ ♡ ♥~
> 
> I'm still working on finishing this story, sorry! ETA, like...early next year? 
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	16. The Fallout

Scott's mother is angry, he can tell, but she's holding herself back until she can get more ammunition to yell at him.

“Well?” she says, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly. She's standing in front of her bed with her arms crossed over her chest, medical binder discarded on her pillow, and Scott knew the second he walked into the room he's not going to be able to put this off any longer.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demands. “I need an explanation for these past two days right now.”

“I…” Scott says, cringing inwardly at her disapproval. “I can explain, I just...it isn't only about me.”

“Oh, I know it isn't!” she snaps. “You're sleeping in their compartment now?”

“Yeah, I-” Scott says, startled that this is the first thing she brings up. He wonders whose bed she'd be more angry he slept in. “Look, after dinner last ni-two nights ago, we ran into Peter Hale, and it...it wasn't good. So...that's why Isaac…”

“What happened?” she asks immediately.

Scott can't tell her. He could not bear her horrified reaction and worry for him. It’s already bad enough that Scott is going to have to live with the knowledge of how close he came to being violated- he doesn't want his mother to have to live with it either.

“It doesn't only involve me,” Scott says steadily and looks her in the eye instead the infinitely preferable elsewhere. “And it's over now anyway.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, eyes widening.

“He's been locked up,” Scott says evenly.

“And how did that happen when Isaac was the one who attacked him?” Scott's mother asks, clenching her jaw frustratedly.

“I took care of it,” Scott says flatly.

His mother just looks at him blankly, like she doesn't even recognize him for a moment.

“What?” she says slowly. “What does that mean?”

“It’s over now,” Scott repeats. “You don’t have to worry about it, okay?”

“Well, I _do_ worry,” Scott’s mother exclaims. “Especially because you won’t even tell me what happ-”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Scott says tiredly, turning away to pick up his towel from on top of his dresser. “I'm going to take a shower now.”

She’s sitting on her bed when he comes back, staring at the wall in front of her. She looks up at him in anguish and Scott feels his stomach drop. He doesn’t want her to look at him like that.

“I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore,” she says quietly.

Maybe because you don’t, Scott thinks, even as he feels a pang in his chest at the sadness in her voice and eyes. He’s not the same person he was when he left District 12. There’s no way he could be.

“I know,” he responds gently. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to reply to that, and he doesn’t know what else to say. They’ve never really fought much, but whenever they disagreed, usually time was the only thing that solved it. Scott knows eventually she’ll get over it. They never could stay angry at each other for long, that’s just the way they are and always have been.

But now...He’s a different person now. He’s not the same friendless boy who spent most of his time trying to find ways to help them survive. He’s a survivor of the Games, training to be a doctor, and hardly friendless. What if she doesn’t like the new him? What if they can’t get along?

If she knew what he did with Isaac and Allison...she wouldn’t approve. She’d hate it. And he knows she’ll find out eventually, if she isn’t suspicious already.

“I’ll see you in a bit,”  his mother says, getting off the bed and picking up her own towel on her way out of the compartment.

Scott watches the door shut behind her and sits down on his own bed, sighing heavily. Why does it feel like nothing is really over?

 

* * *

 

Scott is walking out of the Dining Hall after an incredibly awkward breakfast in which he, Allison, and Isaac avoided looking or speaking at anyone, when he's suddenly yanked backwards and spun around.

“What the hell did you do?” Derek Hale growls angrily, shockingly close to Scott's face.

“What?” Scott says shrilly, jerking back and trying to escape out from under his hand gripping his shoulder.

“What did you tell them about Peter?” Derek demands, grip vice-like and immobile on Scott's shoulder.

“Let go of me!” Scott demands, glancing around in a panic as he realizes there's no one in but them in the hallway.

“It was you, wasn't it?” Derek snarls and Scott has a sudden imagine of him sinking his teeth into his opponent's jugular in his Games flash across his vision. “You're the snitch.”

“Are you serious, Derek, let go of him,” a voice says from behind him, and Scott looks over Derek's shoulder to see Cora standing behind him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“This _kid_ is the reason Peter's locked up,” Derek says angrily, letting go of Scott's shoulder, but grabbing the collar of his gray shirt instead so he can't escape. His muscles bulge under the material of his shirt and Scott is acutely aware of how easily he could crush him like a bug.

“Peter's locked up because he was stupid enough to keep contraband in his room,” Cora says shortly. “And this _kid_ is the only reason I'm alive.”

Scott takes his eyes off of Derek's intimidating figure to give her a shocked look. Cora doesn't pay him any attention, though, and continues to stare her older brother down.

Derek lets out a snort of disgust and shoves Scott backward. “Fine,” he tells Cora and then turns to give Scott a threatening look. “You ever come after my family again, you won't get off so easy.”

“Look, I didn't-” Scott tries to explain, but Derek gives him a disgusted look and stalks off in the direction of the elevators.

“I-uh,” Scott says, watching to make sure he's not going to come back before addressing Cora. “Thanks.”

“He's more pissed at Peter than he is at you,” Cora tells him, rolling her eyes in a fashion that really hammers home her status as a younger sister. “You're just an easy target.”

“You didn't tell him…” Scott asks delicately, massaging his shoulder where Derek grabbed him.

“No,” Cora says shortly, looking angry he brought it up. “I have no idea what he'd do with that information.”

Yeah, Derek hardly seemed like the most stable of people, Scott thinks, checking to see if Derek ripped his collar. Though it was probably no wonder considering his many years as the Capitol’s most popular victor.

“He didn't know about the alcohol, though?” he asks next.

“No, of course not,” Cora says, frowning at him.

“Oh,” Scott says, finding this a bit unlikely. Surely he'd be able to smell it. “But don't they room together?”

“No,” Cora, eyebrows furrowing. “He rooms with Braeden.”

“ _Braeden_?” Scott repeats.

“Yeah, she's his girlfriend,” Cora says, confused by his surprise.

“Really?” Scott says, stunned.

Cora scowls. “Look all that stuff in the Capitol wasn't real. Derek's not like that. He's with Braeden. They've been together for years.”

“I didn't mean-” Scott starts, stomach dropping as he realizes how angry she is.

“No, you just assumed like everyone else,” Cora interrupts him furiously, cheeks reddening. “So, _no_ , my brother is not some huge player who enjoys Capitol parties. Don't you dare think that for a second.”

“I'm sorry,” Scott says immediately, instead of explaining further. “I didn't know.”

“Whatever,” Cora says grumpily, seeming to reign in her temper. “Anyway, no, neither of us roomed with Peter. I was going to, but Lydia _insisted_ that I-”

She stops mid-sentence, look of vague annoyance turning into horror.

A couple people exit the Dining Hall behind her and Scott and Cora both remain silent as they pass.

“You okay?” Scott asks her carefully when she doesn't say anything. Her face is very white.

“Fine,” she says shortly and stalks past him to the elevators.

Scott turns to watch her go, uncertain if he should wait until she's gone before taking the elevator himself. She clearly doesn't want to talk to him anymore.

 

* * *

 

Scott is in the middle of taking notes on a doctor's demonstration of how to check for an enlarged thyroid gland on a dubious looking patient when he feels a sharp tap on his shoulder.

“Trainee McCall,” Head Doctor Finch says, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Come with me, please.”

Scott feels the stares of his classmates on his back as he follows her out of the room and into the hallway, anxiety rising in his chest. Is he in trouble for missing part of rounds?

“Listen to me very carefully,” Finch says lowly as he follows her to her office. “I don't know what happened, but you need to be very careful right now. Do _not_ argue, do not ask questions. You simply nod your head and agree, do you understand me?”

“What?” Scott says, quickening his pace to catch up with her so he can see her face. “What's going on?”

“You have to promise me you'll be smart,” she says urgently, and Scott feels a sudden shock of cold at the fear in her eyes. “You won't make her angry.”

“What, who are you talking about?” Scott asks nervously, but they're already at her office door.

“Remember what I said,” Finch tells him tersely and pulls the door open.

Sitting at her desk, is President Calavera.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” the President says. “We won't be long. Sit down, Soldier McCall.”

Scott enters the room with his heart in his throat and is unable to help turning around in dismay when he hears the door close behind him.

He turns around quickly to see President Calavera observing him closely and swallows. He steps forward and sits on the cold metal chair, trying to keep his hands from shaking in his lap.

“What can I help you with?” he asks lightly.

She lets out a surprised snort of laughter. “You certainly don't look like much, do you?”

Scott doesn’t have anything to say to this, so he keeps his mouth shut and focuses all his energy on maintaining a blank face.

“You certainly are a lucky one, though,” President Calavera continues, dark eyes fixed on him unnervingly. “You managed to survive the Games with absolutely no fighting skills, escaped the Arena and survived long enough in the wilderness to be rescued. Then you come here and are apparently so impressive to my propo crew that they choose you as the focal point of their production, despite much worthier alternatives. And now you’ve been handpicked by my Head Doctor to become a doctor, which, considering your background, seems more than a little unlikely. So tell me. What is so special about Scott McCall?”

Scott feels his throat dry up and his ears heat up. “Nothing,” he says carefully, her words echoing in his ears. This isn’t good. This kind of attention is never good. And from the President, no less! Why is this happening? “I’m not special.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” she says, raising her eyebrows and shifting forward in her seat. “But in light of the evidence, I’m reserving my opinion for now.”

She doesn’t says anything after that and Scott doesn’t know if she wants him to respond. He has to resist the urge to look away to avoid her piercing stare. She looks to be only just above the average age in District 13, but growing up in 12, Scott can only think of two or three people who lived past their sixties. He’s never interacted this much with someone so much older than him and he’s not sure how to go about it. Especially when she’s so hostile and rude. His mother always told him be be respectful of the elderly, so he couldn’t exactly fight back, even if she wasn’t the _President of District 13_.

“I’ll make this quick, Soldier,” President Calavera says straightforwardly, crisscrossing her fingers together and resting her hands on desk in front of her. “Two days ago your friend initiated a physical altercation in the Dining Hall and was taken into custody. Instead of waiting for Internal Disputes to resolve the situation, you implicated Peter Hale for possession of contraband and somehow managed to convince a top advisor of mine to disregard protocol and release your friend. To make matters worse, you incited four of your fellow citizens to aid you in this mutiny. This,” she says sharply, “is a problem.”

Mutiny! Scott feels lightheaded at her accusatory words. This can’t be happening. The President of District 13 cannot be angry at him.

“I am not an unreasonable person,” President Calavera continues, apparently not expecting a response. “I realize you come from a District where this sort of behavior is tolerated. But I have a war to win, and I cannot permit even the slightest hint of insubordination. And I am a firm believer in neutralizing problems before they can turn into threats,” she finishes, giving him a cold look.

“What does that mean?” Scott says, the hair on the back of his neck rising in foreboding.

“It means that if you ever interfere in the way I run this District again I will kill you, I will kill your mother and father, and I will kill your friends,” the President replies without the slightest bit of remorse.

Scott’s mouth drops open in shock and he feels as if his entire body has been gripped by a large hand and squeezed painfully. He feels his heartrate shoot up and even inhaling seems like an impossible task.

“Do you understand me, Soldier McCall?” President Calavera says, giving him no time to sort through his panicked thoughts.

“Yes,” Scott says quietly, putting every ounce of energy he has left into keeping his voice steady. He is successful. He looks her right in the eye, uncowed. “I understand.”

“Good,” President Calavera says, but there is no victory in her expression, only a tinge of annoyance. “See to it we never meet like this again.”

She gets up before Scott can think of how to reply and leaves the room, shutting Head Doctor Finch’s office door behind her with a sharp click. Scott stays where he is, staring down at the wood grain of Finch’s desk for several minutes until he can gather the strength to get up and find a bathroom to have an asthma attack in.  

He muddles through the rest of the day paralyzed by fear and then goes immediately back to his compartment instead of to dinner.

He lies on his bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling with his heart pounding wildly in his chest, trying to think of how he could have prevented this.

But he can’t think of anything. He knew he was breaking the rules when he went after Isaac, knew there might be consequences, but he has no idea how he was supposed to expect this. And all the other things he mentioned, surviving the Games, escaping to the wilderness, being chosen for the Doctor Training Program. How could he have known that would lead here? Why _did_ it lead here, to the President threatening his life? The way she spoke...it was like she considered him a threat. But that didn’t make any sense. If she was mad about him breaking the rules, why didn’t she have someone else reprimand him? How could she consider him important enough to meet herself?

There must be something else going on, he realizes, sitting up and clenching his jaw. There has to be some explanation that will help him navigate the way forward. And he knows just who to ask.

“Mr. Deaton,” he says when Deaton steps out of the elevator on Level 9.

“Scott?” Deaton says, stepping to the side so the other people heading back from dinner can pass by them. “Why weren’t you at dinner? Your mother was worried.”

“I need to ask you something,” Scott says seriously and watches Deaton’s face shift from surprised to guarded in a matter of seconds.

Deaton leads him back to his compartment and Scott tells him everything. Well, not everything. But enough.

“I just keep thinking...it doesn’t make any sense,” Scott says, watching Deaton’s face closely. “Why she would come talk to me personally. There’s something else going on, isn’t there?”

Deaton swallows and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at Scott with tired eyes, suddenly years older.

“Yes,” he says finally. “There have been several ...differences in opinion between the rebel Districts and District 13 over how the war should be fought. Araya seemed to operate under the assumption that the other Districts would automatically follow her lead in the rebellion and for the most part that has been true, but there have been an increasing number of complaints from other Districts, particularly 3 and 8, that District 13 isn’t doing their fair share. It was probably inevitable no matter what 13 did- the Districts have been pitted against each other for almost 75 years-but it took 13 completely by surprise. They’ve never had anyone question their authority internally before. And with the problems with the 10s, Araya has become increasingly suspicious of outsiders. So when you convinced Soldier Parrish to break protocol…”

“She saw it as a threat,” Scott says, slumping against the back of the desk chair across from Deaton’s side of the room. Like his compartment, Deaton’s has two beds, two dressers, two desks, and two chairs. But the other bed is unmade and the tops of the desk and dresser are empty. Deaton must not have a roommate. It seems lonely somehow, even though he lived alone for almost 25 years in District 12, but it’s certainly working in their favor today.

He brings his hand up to his forehead, panic starting to burgeon in his chest. “Shit. She said...she used the word mutiny. That’s what she’s worried about, isn’t it?”

“That seems likely,” Deaton responds. “Listen to me, Scott, you just need to be careful, alright? Lay low. Nothing like what happened with Peter and your friend can ever happen again. Araya will forget about you. Believe me, she has much bigger things to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Scott says breathlessly, lowering his hand and looking to him gratefully. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense. Thanks.”

Deaton doesn’t mirror his relief, though. Instead, he looks at Scott with the same strained expression. “Scott, I…” he says carefully. “What happened with Peter...is that really what happened?”

Scott feels the color drain out of his face. Deaton knows. How did he-

“Peter...there have been rumours, among the victors, about his…” Deaton looks like he might be ill. “Did he...did he hurt you?”

“No!” Scott says quickly, not wanting him to think that for a second longer, shaken by the fear in Deaton’s face. “No, he...he tried, but. I mean, I think he was going to try, but Allison came in then. And she, she knew. She got me out of there.”

His stomach contracts at the mention of it, mind immediately going to dark places of what might have happened if Allison hadn’t come in when she had. No, no, no, he thinks. He’s been so good these past few days. Hasn’t allowed himself to think about it at all. He can’t go back. He has to move forward.

“Okay,” Deaton says, exhaling deeply, shoulders loosening. “Okay, that’s...I’m so sorry, Scott, I never realized-”

“It’s fine,” Scott says quickly, looking away immediately in discomfort. He focuses his eyes on the bedpost instead. “Really. Nothing happened. I didn’t even know he was...Allison had to tell me.” He closes his eyes for a moment to center himself and inhales. “I’m fine.”

The worry on Deaton’s face doesn’t disappear, but he nods anyway.

“Thanks,” Scott says, standing up. “That helped. I won’t do anything else that gains attention, I promise.”

“Scott, wait,” Deaton says, standing up as well. “Peter’s...he’s not gone away forever. The Hales are too influential. It might take a couple months, but he’ll get out eventually.”

“I know,” Scott says, even as he feels sick at the thought, because he did. He knew 13 would never just lock up a victor forever. “I’ll just stay away from him. Get...get the others too.”

It sounds hopeless, though. How is he supposed to live knowing he could be around the corner at any time? When Peter will doubtlessly want revenge.

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Deaton says immediately. “But, Scott, we need to talk about what to do when h-”

“I know, we will,” Scott cuts him off. “Just...just later. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Deaton says, looking cowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Scott says and smiles at him. “I’m just really tired. I’m going to go to bed now, okay?”

“Okay,” Deaton says, but the worry in his eyes is still present.

Scott makes to leave, but then something occurs to him and turns back from the door.

“Please don't mention anything to my mother,” he says, suddenly uneasy. He's so used to being the only one Deaton ever spoke to he completely forgot they'd become friendly.

“She doesn't know?” Deaton says with a frown.

“No.”

Deaton doesn't ask why Scott didn't tell her, but the question is all over his face.

“I know this isn't any of my business,” Deaton says carefully. “But you should talk to your mother. She's very worried about you.”

“You don't think it'd just worry her more?” Scott says and immediately regrets it. He doesn't want to talk about this.

“Maybe,” Deaton allows. “But she's not going to stop until you talk to her. Melissa's worried about you enough for a lifetime, don't you think?”

Scott suddenly has a horrible feeling that his mom might tell Deaton more than he realized. Her suspicions about Isaac, for example.

He nods and then leaves quickly, uneasy in a rather different way than when he arrived.

What had his mother told him? He hadn't realized they were so close. He'd called her ‘Melissa' too, and there was something about the way he said her name that made Scott uncomfortable. Other than his father and the women his mother knew from school, no one used his mother's first name so casually. Even Stiles's dad had always respectfully referred to her as ‘Mrs. McCall’ and they'd known each other for years.

He doesn't like the idea that they might have been talking about him behind his back. It was just humiliating. And what if Deaton told her about Peter?

Calm down, he tells himself as he reaches the elevators. You're jumping to conclusions. Deaton wouldn't do that, not if Scott specifically asked him not to.

Still, he can’t help eyeing his mother suspiciously when she comes back into their compartment.

“Where were you?” she asks, hanging her damp towel over the front of her desk chair. “You can’t keep skipping meals, Scott. It’s not healthy and you’re going to get in trouble.”

You have no idea, Scott thinks.

“Sorry,” he says, giving her a tired smile. “I was just exhausted after rounds, so I came back here to take a nap. And then after dinner I went to ask Mr. Deaton about something.”

“Oh?” she says, eyebrow rising slightly in curiosity, but her tone is casual. “What about?”

“I...just some stuff about 13,” Scott says, remembering Deaton’s words about his mother’s worries. “They weren’t happy with me interfering with Isaac’s case, so I went to ask his advice.”

“What do you mean, they weren’t happy?” his mother says, not fooled by his attempt to downplay it.

“You know, I broke the rules,” Scott says, waving a hand casually in her direction. “And they gave me all these dire warnings, but when I went to Mr. Deaton he said they’re so busy with the war effort that as long as I don’t do anything else they’ll probably just forget about it. So it’s fine.”

“Oh,” Scott’s mother says, looking mollified. “That’s good to know. Just don’t-”

“I know, I know,” Scott says with a laugh. “Believe me, I don’t intend on causing any more trouble. I never do, you know.”

“I know,” she says and smiles hesitantly before sitting down on her bed across from him. “So, how else was your day?”

“Same old,” he says. “It was nice to talk to Mr. Deaton again. I feel like I never see him outside of meals. He always gives good advice.”

“Yes, I think so too,” his mother replies, but otherwise doesn’t rise to the bait and changes the topic of conversation to her own day.

They talk until the lights go out, and Scott is left pondering this unexpected development in the dark. She hadn’t said it today, but now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he’s heard her refer to Mr. Deaton as ‘Alan’ at least once.

It’s a little disconcerting that it took him this long to notice, but he supposes he’s had his own problems to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, I'm sorry. I figured Scott should probably talk to someone other than Allison or Isaac at some point in this story. The majority of those conversations were hostile, but welcome to the Hunger Games universe! :D
> 
> Still writing, I promise, and I will see all of you in 2018! Please comment!


	17. The Counterstrike

The rebels take District 5 the day Isaac starts his extra duties at night and meetings with his anger management counselor, and as a result he is the only person in a bad mood as the report comes in over the intercom. He’s even more exhausted at meals and Scott is worried that he’s going to end up in the hospital sooner or later. He absolutely refuses to talk about his meeting with the counselor, which makes both Scott and Allison suspicious and worried. As days go by he starts falling asleep during meals and one memorable time almost faceplants right into his okra stew.

“Ugh, are you serious?” Lydia snaps at him, jerking to the side to avoid the splash of the slimy liquid and almost falling off the end of the bench.

“What?” Isaac says, raising his head from his tray and looks down at the overturned bowl in confusion.

“Here,” Scott says quickly, reaching over the table with his cloth napkin and managing to stop the stew from dripping over the edge of the table and onto the floor.

“Sorry,” Isaac says, blinking rapidly, still looking dazed. He grabs his own napkin and picks up a glob of okra and puts in back the bowl.

There’s a shout of laughter from two tables over and Scott looks over automatically to see Cora and the new group of boys from District 4 that just came in two days ago. She seems more at ease than he’s ever seen her, seated next to her brother and talking animately with the newcomers.

It’s nice to see her actually enjoying herself for once, Scott thinks.

Lydia doesn’t seem to agree, by the way she scoffs and rolls her eyes in irritation.  

“What?” Allison says from beside Scott, raising her eyebrows at Lydia.

“Nothing,” Lydia says sweetly, making it completely obvious how disdainful she is of Cora’s behavior. “It’s just embarrassing.”

“What?” Scott says, unable to understand why Cora making friends could be considered embarrassing.

“Isn’t her brother getting married soon?” Kira asks, glancing at Malia questioningly. “Of course she’s happy.”

“Yeah, they’re planning it with 13,” Malia says with a shrug. “Apparently, it’s a big deal. 13 doesn’t usually have any celebrations.”

“Derek is getting married to...Braeden?” Scott asks carefully, half-expecting laughter to follow this question.

“Yup,” Malia says easily. “I mean, as far I can tell they’ve basically been married for years, but they’re finally making it official. Since they can now.”

Really? Scott thinks, shocked even though Cora had pretty much said the same thing last week. But what he’s even more shocked at is how no one else at the table seems to think this is even the slightest bit unusual. He glances over at the other side of the table, but his mother is conversing politely with Deaton and his father is engrossed in a maintenance manual.

It isn't that Braeden is unattractive. She's certainly...striking, even with those scars. But she's so _dark_. And from what Scott has been given to understand, Derek is considered by most of Panem to be the pinnacle of male beauty. He could have any woman he wanted.

And even stranger, no one else seems to think it's odd at all. They're acting like it's a completely normal pairing when Scott knows for a fact that it's not. There are very few people in the Capitol with (naturally) darker skin, and the commentators in the Games have always described the tributes with darker skin as being animalistic and savage even when the descriptor hardly fit. Scott doesn't know much about other Districts, but from watching the Games over the years it's impossible to not notice that the wealthier the District, the lighter the skin, with few exceptions.

And in 12...something like this would _never_ happen in 12. Even in the rare cases of intermarriage between people from the Seam and merchant class, the person from the Seam was always lightskinned, like Stiles's mother, who was only distinguishable from a merchant because of her dark hair. Stiles had been paler than a lot of the merchants in their class, much to the chagrin of the girls who always took care to stay out of the sun.

“What's wrong?” Allison asks, giving him a questioning look.

“You don't...you don't think it's weird?” he asks quietly, so only she and Isaac can hear him. He knows the answer, but he still wants to hear it. He's always been grateful that they don't seem to mind the color of his skin.

Allison doesn't reply, looking confused, but Isaac says: “Yeah, it's weird. I mean, Braeden's hot, but who'd want to spend the rest of their life with _Derek Hale_?”

Scott's head snaps around to look at him, but there is no mockery in his expression. He's not joking.

“What?” Isaac says, making a face and slouching a little. “It's true. He always looks like he's got a stick up his ass, and not in a fun way.”

Scott gapes at him, appalled, but next to Isaac Kira lets out a surprised giggle.

“Sorry,” she tells Malia immediately, suddenly anxious.

“I don't care,” Malia says, slurping up a spoonful of stew.

“Please, like you don't think he's hot,” Allison says, rolling her eyes.

“I didn't say _that_ ,” Isaac says with a grin.

Scott can't help smile at this, but his smile disappears once he glances over at the other side of the table. Because of course this is the part of the conversation his mother starts listening in on.

She looks stunned and Scott automatically looks down at his food.

Great, he thinks. He's not going to be able to hide this that much longer.

There's another wave of laughter from Cora's table, and Scott looks over to see Derek and Braeden sitting side by side, Derek listening intently to Braeden tell an animated story to Cora.

Derek and Braeden. It makes Scott like Derek a little more, even though he's kind of an asshole.

 

* * *

 

“Oh…” Isaac gasps, falling back onto the bed. “Wow. What was in that stew?”

Scott grins and wipes his mouth. It sort of aches, from pleasuring both of them, but so worth it to see their blissed out expressions.

“Seriously,” Isaac pants, pulling Scott down to lie on top of him. “What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Scott says innocently. He can't tell them it's because how happy he is they didn't say anything insulting about Braeden. They wouldn't understand.

Isaac makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and kisses Scott sloppily, uncaring as always of the bodily fluids smeared over Scott's mouth.

Scott kisses him back hungry, erection straining the front of his trousers, but after a couple seconds Isaac pulls away and lies his head on Scott's shoulder.

“You can fuck me if you want,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes already shut.

Allison snorts with laughter from behind Scott, and then winds her arms around his waist, right hand slipping into his trousers.

“You sound so enthusiastic,” she tells Isaac while she begins to jerk Scott off.

Isaac just grunts in response, not even opening his eyes and Scott presses his cheek next to his on the mattress and moans helplessly into the sheets.

He comes with a sharp cry and then spends a while trembling in Allison's arms while she strokes his hair gently, until Isaac begins to snore.

“Isaac,” Scott says tiredly, raising his head and shaking his shoulder. “You can't fall asleep, you have to go to work soon.”

Isaac jerks into wakefulness. “What?” he says muzzily.

“You have work duty,” Allison tells him, sitting up and wiping her hand on the sheets.

Isaac swears and rolls over onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling tiredly, and Scott feels a pang of worry at the miserable lines on his face.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks him.

“Fine,” Isaac says with a shrug and sits up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I just wish they had coffee here.”

He turns around to pull on his shirt and Scott watches the muscles move under his scarred back, a sight so familiar to him now.  It’s not fair. He wishes he could make Isaac's life easier.

“I need a shower,” Isaac says, pressing his nose to his arm and inhaling, making a face when he pulls back. He turns to give Scott an assessing look. “Wanna come?”

That is a terrible idea, Scott knows. “I don't have a towel,” he says, even as some part of him shivers at the thought of being pressed between a naked Allison and Isaac under a hot spray of water.

“You can borrow mine,” Isaac says with a coy grin.

Scott smiles faintly. “I better go on my Level,” he says, peering over the edge of the bed to locate his clothes.

“Spoilsport,” Isaac mutters and Allison smirks in amusement, lying back naked on the bed without any attempt to cover her breasts or other parts, content to watch them get dressed with heated eyes.

Scott’s mother is reading a medical procedure binder when he gets back to their compartment, the heavy book balanced in her lap. She doesn’t look up at him when he comes into the room to get his towel, and she’s still sitting in the same position when he comes back after his shower. Neither of them say anything until the lights go out.

 

* * *

 

Derek and Braeden’s wedding quickly becomes the talk of 13. They don’t seem to have celebrations here of any kind, so everyone is thrilled at the prospect of a party. Scott hears more than five increasingly wild rumors about the kind of festivities that have been planned from his fellow trainees and is quietly amused at how they reveal the 13’s impressions of the other Districts. The fact that they believed that Derek and Braeden wanted to flood the Collective with saltwater as part of the wedding ceremony speaks volumes. Scott could be insulted at their ignorant assumptions about people they have clearly not spent any time bothering to learn about, but he mostly finds their fascination with the “chaotic” nature of life outside 13 amusing.

Scott doesn’t have much time for gossip anyway. He remains exhaustingly busy and he rarely sees Isaac and Allison outside of meals. Occasionally he’ll sneak into their compartment after dinner, but more often than not they’re all too exhausted for sex, especially Isaac. His mother is always tight-lipped and disapproving when he returns, and every time Scott feels a little more weighed down by the guilt.

One of the rare chances for a break is his mandatory outside time. People who work in the hospital have it less often than everyone else, but despite his busy schedule he’s still required to go outside to get some sunlight. It’s basically just a large field with a few trees surrounded by a thirty foot electric fence with razor sharp curls of steel on top, and Scott usually brings some study material and sits out in the sun to read, even though they’re encouraged to walk around and get some exercise. It’s October now, so he’s given a jacket to go outside in, but his fingers still become numb after a couple minutes of turning the pages of his study binder.

“Hey, Scott,” someone says, and he looks up to see Kira smiling at him hesitantly in a jacket much too large for her.

“Hey,” he says, closing his binder and straightening his back. “How’ve you been?”

Kira hasn’t been sitting with them lately, but with her parents instead.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she says quickly. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“No, it’s okay, I can read it later,” Scott says. “Sit down.”

She does and smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks,” she says. “I always feel so awkward when I don’t know anyone here.”

“Yeah, that’s why I usually bring this,” Scott says, placing a hand on top of his binder. “It’s on urinary tract infections, so believe me, I’m grateful for the company.”

Kira laughs, but it’s a little hollow. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like fun.”

“How’s your job going?” Scott asks, making an extra effort to seem interested.

“It’s okay,” she says, smile brittle. “Very repetitive, but it’s important work.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott says sympathetically. “Do you think it’ll get more interesting?”

“Probably not,” she says, shrugging, and tucks a strand of jet black hair behind her ear.

“You okay?” Scott says, looking carefully at the sad turn of her mouth. “Maybe you can ask for a different one.”

“Oh, no, it’s not the job,” she says. “It’s...my mom is going back to District 5 next week.”

She lets out a soft laugh and looks down at the grass, plucking a couple pieces up and moving them between her fingers. “I guess that probably sounds kind of dumb. The rebels have control of the entire District, so it’s not like it’s a warzone anymore, but-”

“It’s not dumb!” Scott interjects, shocked that she worried he’d think that. “You’re not going with her?”

“No, my father and I are staying here,” she says, with a weak smile. “Safer, you know. I wish my mom would stay too, but she wants to go back and help. Satomi Ito is in charge of the rebels in 5 and they go way back. She was my mother’s Mentor in her Games.”

Scott knows the name Satomi Ito, but he can’t quite picture her. He’s pretty sure she’s one of the oldest victors alive.

“Hey, it’s definitely not dumb to worry about your mom,” Scott says reassuringly.

“Yeah, I just, I know I’m so lucky, like, compared to so many people here, you know?” Kira says. “I don’t want to complain.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Scott tells her, but part of him warms a little, because he feels like that all the time. Even starving back in 12, he knew he was better off than the kids at the community home, so he never wanted to seem ungrateful for what he had.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling sweetly and then sits up straighter. “Sorry, I shouldn’t just talk about myself. How are you doing? How is training to be a doctor?”

“Good. I mean, you know, it’s a lot of work, but it’s really interesting.”

“That’s good,” Kira replies, shuddering a little as a gust of wind blows through the field. “I mean, if it’s a lot of work, it’s good that you really like it.”

“I do, I just wish I had a little more free time. Like, when I first got here, I didn’t have anything to do, but now I barely see Allison and Isaac anymore.” He grins wryly. “Guess it’s either one or the other.”

“Yeah,” she says, and then gives him a curious look. “Allison and Isaac are like, your best friends, right?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We were together in the Games and afterward, so…”

“I don’t really know them that well, but they seem...nice,” Kira tries and Scott can’t help snorting with laughter.

“No, not really,” he says, and while he speaks he can’t keep an odd grin from stretching his lips. “But it’s all good.”

Kira looks vaguely confused, but then he changes the subject to what growing up in 5 was like before his break is up.

That night he drags himself over to Allison and Isaac’s compartment after dinner even though he’d really just like to pass out on his bed. Isaac immediately latches himself to his back and Allison curls into his front and strokes his hair, turning Scott limp and relaxed.

Scott is just about to fall asleep when Isaac starts kissing the back of his neck and slips his hands under the front of Scott’s shirt.

“Isaacccc,” Scott groans, putting his hands over Isaac’s to stop him but not having the willpower to pull them off him.

“Mmm,” Isaac says, licking the knob of his spine at the top of his neck.

“Did you just lick me?” Scott asks, twisting his head around to look at him.

“Pft, like I haven’t licked you before,” Isaac snorts, and sits up a bit to lean over Scott to kiss the side of his face.

“Well, yes, but usually there’s less drool.”

Isaac scowls, and face plants into Scott’s neck with a groan.

Allison smiles lazily and reaches over to bury her fingers in Isaac’s hair. She pulls one strand up straight, and it’s surprisingly long uncurled.

“Are you just going to lie on top of me?” Scott asks, shifting uncomfortably under Isaac’s weight.

He feels Isaac grin against his neck. “You’re very comfortable,” he says. “Especially because you’re not so skinny anymore.”

He punctuates this statement with a squeeze of Scott’s pectoral muscle.

Scott rolls his eyes, but is inwardly pleased that Isaac noticed. He’s by no means bulky, but he looks better than he ever has in his life. More like a man than a sickly child.

Isaac rolls off him and Scott settles onto his back, reaching out for Allison and sighing with pleasure as she lies against his shoulder.

“What did you do today?” Allison asks. She’s been asking it a lot lately, like she’s worried she might lose him if she doesn’t know what he’s doing everyday.

“Learned about the renal system in the morning, hung out with Kira outside after lunch, and then treated some women with arthritis using this drug that you inject int-”

“Kira?” Isaac says, sitting up suddenly.

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says, raising his eyebrows at his sudden alacrity.

“What did you talk about?” Allison asks. Her voice is casual, but her hand has gone still on his stomach.

“Uh, just her mom. She’s going back to 5 to help the rebels, and she was kind of sad about it,” Scott says, nonplussed by Isaac’s tense expression.

Neither of them respond to that and Scott sits up on his elbows. “Uh, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Isaac says dubiously, and lies back down on his back, but he doesn’t make eye contact with Scott. “I mean, you know she likes you, right?”

“What?” Scott says with a frown. “No, she doesn’t.”

“She does,” Allison says flatly, still unmoving on his shoulder.

“You didn’t know?” Isaac says, looking at him finally with a rather confused expression on his face. “It’s pretty obvious. She’s like, always talking to you.”

“She’s just being nice,” Scott says, wondering uncomfortably if this is jealously.

“Nice? Yeah, right,” Isaac scoffs. “No, she’s majorly into you.”

“Just because a girl is nice to you doesn’t mean she likes you,” Scott says, an edge coming into his voice. He remembers being taken aback as a child at his mother’s cool demeanor with miner patients. When he asked her about it, she admitted that she’d had so many unwanted advances from men she’d been kind to that she found it safer to remain distant. It only got worse after his father left.

Neither Allison nor Isaac look convinced by this argument.

“She’s always looking at you,” Allison tells him, tilting her head up to glance at him quizzically.

Really? Scott hadn't noticed. “I think you're just reading into things,” he says dubiously. Girls never like Scott. Well, besides Allison, but Scott would be the first to admit that that only happened under extremely unusual circumstances.

Isaac looks incredulous.

“Don't be obtuse, she likes you,” Allison says, sitting up and giving him an annoyed look. “Thankfully she has enough sense not to make a move.”

There's something derisive in her tone that Scott doesn't like.

“So you want me to do what, not talk to her anymore?” Scott says sharply, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

He doesn't like jealously. Stiles had always been jealous, mad when Scott was friendly with other people. He stopped speaking to Scott for two days after Scott walked Greenberg home in fifth grade after he twisted his ankle. After the whole debacle with Theo, Scott had just given up trying to make other friends. He knew it wasn't fair, but he didn't want to lose the only friend he had.

Jealousy hurts people. Everyone in 12 knew who the jealous men were by the marks they left on their wives.

Allison shrugs and looks away uncomfortably. Scott turns to Isaac expectantly.

“I dunno,” he hedges, biting his lip. “I mean, as long as she doesn't try anything…”

“It's not like that,” Scott says, trying to remain patient. “We're friends.”

“You can't be friends with someone who wants to sleep with you,” Isaac says, looking bemused at the idea.

“That's… _Isaac,_ ” Scott says, startled by this _completely unfounded assumption_. He sits up and pulls the sheets to his waist, uncomfortable having this conversation unclothed. “I'm friends with _you_.”

“What?” Allison says, finally looking in his direction, nose wrinkling.

“Both of you,” Scott says, looking between them, confused at their confusion. “We're friends.”

They look skeptical, and Scott feels his ears go hot. “I mean...I thought…”

“I guess…” Isaac says, looking like he'd never once thought about it.

“So you'd be completely fine if Isaac or I were hanging around someone who you knew liked us?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrows at him. “You wouldn't be jealous?”

“Of course not,” Scott says immediately, trying not to sound hurt. It occurs to him that Allison told him she'd been with lots of boys. Had one of them been jealous and hurt her? “I would never be jealous,” he says, trying to sound reassuring.

Allison does not look reassured. Mostly she looks annoyed.

“So you wouldn't care if we slept with other people?” she asks challengingly, crossing her arms over her bosom.

Scott knows how he should answer but he hesitates at the miserable ache in his chest at the thought of it.

“I'd be sad, I guess,” he admits, even though he doesn't think the truth is the right thing to say in this case. It seems manipulative. He swallows and looks at Allison steadily. “But I'd never be mad at you.”

Allison stares at him blankly, and Scott is bemused by her scrutiny. It takes a lot to throw Allison off, and it never seems to be the normal things. Because their ideas of what is normal are so far removed from one another. Sometimes it seems like their upbringings have left a huge chasm between the three of them. Scott doesn't know if they'll ever be able to close it, but maybe, someday...

Isaac tackles him to the bed before Allison says anything, and Scott lets out a shocked sound as Isaac pins him to the mattress. He presses his face in Scott's neck and clamps his hand around Scott's hip, and does not move.

“Umm,” Scott says after a couple seconds.

Isaac doesn't shift or respond, and when Scott turns to look up at Allison helplessly, she lies back down beside him and puts his hand on Isaac's back, rubbing up and down.

“You’re very nice,” Allison says quietly, breath ghosting over his shoulder.

Scott glances down at the top of her head, but he can’t see her face. He guesses? It doesn’t seem like being a decent person should be so surprising.

“I try to be,” he says, mostly because he can’t think of anything better to say.

“Most people don’t even bother, you know,” Allison says.

She leans up to kiss him and Scott reaches out to cup her face. Isaac shifts a little against his neck and Scott honestly isn’t sure whether it’s sweat or something else on his cheeks. He puts his arm on the back of his head and runs his hand through his hair.

Allison pulls away and lies back down on his shoulder, and Scott glances between them hesitantly.

Sometimes he gets the impression that no one’s ever been nice to either of them before. It’s depressing when he thinks about it, but it also makes him feel weird when they react like this. He feels like they have too high of an opinion of him sometimes. He’s not perfect, not even close, and it seems somehow dishonest to not disagree whenever they say things that make him sound better than he is.

But he’s exhausted now, and he wouldn’t know what to say anyway. They’ve never reacted well to his self-deprecation.

 

* * *

 

Lessons in the hospital are always a little awkward. Most patients don’t appreciate being surrounded by a group of students and a doctor who usually doesn’t bother to address them directly. The citizens of 13 are too well-disciplined to complain and generally comply with any directives given to them, but people from other Districts are far less trusting and balk at being on display during a vulnerable moment, especially when they have to undress.

But no one has ever been as uncooperative as Hayden Romero.

She’s a girl a couple years younger than Scott from District 5 who was severely injured during the bombing. She has severe burns all over her torso and lost her right foot to gangrene in a makeshift hospital in 5 before the rebels took the District. Surgery repairing her trachea has left her unable to breathe or eat on her own for two weeks, and the entire hospital staff has been talking about how unruly she’s been since the moment she was brought in.

No other patients from other Districts have come to 13, and when Scott asks his mother why she says she heard from another nurse that her older sister is high-up among the rebels in 5, which leaves Scott uneasy thinking about all the people who probably need 13’s medical attention and are being denied.

Scott doesn’t see her until a week after she’s brought in, when he and six of his classmates are shadowing Dr. Boyce and they stop in to check on how her burns are healing while the nurses are changing her bandages.

Scott stops dead in his tracks at the sight of her burned torso and several of his classmates gasp. He’s seen burns like this before from mine explosions, but never so many of them. This girl would have never survived in 12.

“Hayden Romero,” Dr. Boyce says, examining her chart on his tablet. “15 year old female, second and third degree burns on upper torso and neck, recovering from amputation of right foot and tracheostomy.”

The girl gives sudden jerk on the bed and Scott starts at the realization that her wrists are strapped to the bed and she’s naked from the waist up in front of a room full of strangers while the nurses are redressing her wounds.

“Hey-” she chokes out, and Scott is shocked she’s able to speak at all through the tube in her throat connected to the ventilator. “What...the…-ell is this!”

“A simple check-up, Ms. Romero,” Dr. Boyce says, without looking at her directly. “Now, if you look at the contusion on her left breast, you’ll notice scar tissu-”

“Get out!” she gasps, squirming away and nearly causing one of the nurses to drop the tube of burn ointment.

“Nurse Cross, sedate her, please,” Dr. Boyce says calmly, looking vaguely irritated at the disruption.

“Wait!” Scott says quickly as the red-haired nurse turns to get a sedative off the cart beside the table. “Maybe, maybe we should just go,” he says uncomfortably as everyone turns to stare at him.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Boyce says with a frown.

“I think maybe we should go?” Scott says, gesturing at himself and the other trainees, trying to keep his eyes fixed on Dr. Boyce’s face. “I don’t think she wants us in here.”

Dr. Boyce turns to glance at Hayden in confusion, as if this thought had never occurred to him, and Scott hates it. He actually liked Dr. Boyce. He is a pale medium-sized man with dark hair, who is practical and patient with the trainees, unlike some of the doctors who were always irritated when it was their turn to mentor the trainees.

“This is a unique opportunity for you to see the healing process of severe burns, Trainee McCall,” Dr. Boyce says with a frown. “You shouldn’t waste it.”

“She seems upset, though,” Scott says, trying not to sound upset himself. People from 13 don’t seem to place a high value on emotion. “Maybe we should come back later when she’s dressed.”

A boy behind Scott lets out a scoff, and Scott stiffens automatically in anger, but before he can turn around and reprimand the culprit, a horrible sound tears itself out of Hayden’s throat and she writhes on the bed, eyes squeezed shut and face contorted in anguish.

“Nurse!” Dr. Boyce shouts, and before Scott can say anything else the nurse injects a sedative into Hayden’s IV and she slows within seconds, head lolling back on the pillow weakly.

“What happened?” Dr. Boyce asks, pushing open her eyelids and shining a light into them.

“Vitals look normal,” the other nurse says, examining the heart monitor.

None of them seem to understand the reason for her scream was not physical pain, Scott realizes, feeling sick.

“Right, she’s stable, so let’s move on,” Doctor Boyce says. “Now, as I was saying, scar tissue has begun to form around this burn. It will continue to spread unless…”

Scott takes a series of shallow breaths and tries not to focus on the explanation of the treatment of Hayden’s third degree burns. He avoids looking at her face as Dr. Boyce points out the most severe areas on her torso. He hates the fact that the first thing he notices when he gets close is that her left nipple has been completely burnt off.

“Look, I don’t get it,” Sydney says, coming up to him in the locker room after their rounds are done, causing Scott to yank his white uniform pants back up in a panic. “What’s the big deal with taking your clothes off? All you outsiders are so weird about it.”

“We just...don’t usually,” Scott says uncomfortably, aware that she’s not going to be able to understand. 13’s rarely do. “In front of other people.”

“But why?” she frowns, her wide blue eyes full of confusion. “It’s so impractical. Like that girl today. Dr. Boyce was trying to help her, but she threw a fit anyway.”

“People can’t help what they feel,” Scott says, a little stiffly, disgusted at Sydney’s choice of words. That girl was grievously injured in ways that would affect her the rest of her life, and she called her reaction _throwing a fit_?

“I guess,” Sydney says, and to Scott’s surprise, she actually looks a little more understanding. She tucks a strand of long brown hair behind her ear almost nervously. “That’s probably why we always have sedatives on hand.”

“I’m not sure that’s always the best solution,” Scott says, mystified at how she reached this conclusion. 13’s are so _weird_.

“What are you talking about, of course it’s the best solution,” Sydney says, equally confused. “She could have injured herself. And I…” She hesitates and lowers her voice. “If it were me, I would want them to drug me if I was behaving like that. It would be too embarrassing.”

“We didn’t _have_ to drug her, though,” Scott says, starting to get irritated. “She only got upset when we all came in. We could have just left.”

Sydney frowns, like this had never occurred to her.  

“I don’t understand why the default has to always be sedate patients anyway,” Scott continues angrily. “We could just calm them down. How are they supposed to trust us if they know at any second we might decide to knock them out?”

“What?” Sydney says, with wide shocked eyes, and Scott knows he’s gone too far.

“I just…” he says, with a casual shrug. “It seems like a waste of sedatives, you know?”

“Oh,” Sydney says in understanding. “Yeah, I guess I never thought about that before.”

Add it to the list, Scott thinks unkindly.

“I think we’d better get going, dinner is going to start soon,” he says instead, and sighs inwardly in relief when Sydney goes back to her basket of clothes to finish changing.

He doesn’t see Hayden again during rounds, but his mother tells him that she continues to be the talk of the nursing staff.

“Not that I can blame her,” his mother says with a sigh. “She’s here all alone in an unfamiliar place, parents dead, sister still in 5.”

“Have you seen her?” Scott asks, hanging up his wet towel and sitting down on his bed. He knows his mother would be a better nurse to her than anyone else.

“I checked in on her a couple times, but she’s always been sleeping,” his mother says, shaking her head tiredly.

Or drugged, Scott thinks darkly. He tries to think of something he can do for her, but he can’t think of anything that coming from some stranger would make her feel better.

“Did you know a girl in 5 named Hayden Romero?” he asks Kira hopefully at breakfast the next morning.

“No, I don’t think so,” Kira says. “Why?”

“She’s in the hospital all by herself,” Scott explains, shoulders slumping in disappointment. “I thought maybe if you knew her...But maybe you could visit her anyway. It might cheer her up.”

“Okay,” Kira says agreeably. “Can I come after dinner?”

“Really?” Scott says, brightening. “I mean, I’m not sure they would let you in. Can you come during lunch? I can bring you back, and I can also bring you food.”

“Okay,” Kira says, smiling hesitantly, and Scott thinks that maybe it will cheer her up too. As far as he knows, she and her father are the only people from 5 here, and she’s been down ever since her mother left.

“What’s wrong with her?” Isaac asks, looking skeptically between him and Kira.

“She was pretty badly injured in the bombing,” Scott says vaguely, not wanting to ruin anyone’s appetite. “She had surgery on her throat and has to be attached to breathing machine, so she’s been having a pretty hard time of it.”

Isaac grimaces and Allison gives Kira a cool look over the rim of her glass of milk.

Scott gives them both a stern look, and their expressions go blank innocently.

“Hopefully, she’ll be awake, otherwise, I’ll just let you know when I meet you at the front that we have to do it another time,” he tells Kira, and reminds himself that he needs to give her a more detailed rundown of Hayden’s injuries before she sees he so she can be prepared.

“Okay,” Kira says easily. “I’ll see if I can leave a little early so I can meet you up there right when lunch starts.”

“Okay, thanks,” Scott says, so pleased at how this is working out so far. It’s so nice that Kira is willing to meet with Hayden even though she doesn’t know her.

He takes another bite of oatmeal and glances over to the other end of the table to see Deaton looking at him approvingly. Scott smiles at him and then turns back to ask Malia how she’s progressing with her maze course in Basic Training.

He never does end up taking Kira to Hayden’s room during lunch, though, because twenty minutes into his lesson on proper procedure for requesting medication from the pharmacy, eardrum-piercing sirens go off.

The first week Scott was in 13, there was a Level Two drill, where a mechanized voice instructed all citizens to return to their living quarters. His mother had to stay in the hospital, so Scott just sat in his compartment for an hour until the voice instructed them that the drill was over. But this is clearly not a drill. Their instructor immediately shouts for everyone to head for the stairwell over the sirens, and they all walk briskly down the hallway while people from other classrooms join them and fill the hallway. Everyone’s faces are tense, but no one runs or panics despite the wailing sirens. Scott remembers learning about bomb shelters at the very bottom of 13 in their orientation and realizes that’s where they must be headed. But what about his mom? He glances around, but he of course he can’t see her in the throng of gray-suited people. She must be at the hospital helping the patients get out. Once he reaches Level 13 Scott forces his way through the crowd of people coming into the stairwell to get into the hospital. He dodges around stretchers being carried by orderlies and stands on his tiptoes to scan the hallways full of frantic white-clad hospital staff rushing from room to room.

“McCall!” Finch yells, holding an armful of IV bags. “Pharmacy! Now!”

Scott immediately rushes down the hall to the pharmacy and throws the door open. Inside are three nurses stuffing pill bottles into different baskets. They throw him one without questioning his presence and Scott sweeps a shelf of coagulants into his basket.

Ears throbbing from the sirens, they clear out the essential drugs from the pharmacy and load them onto a cart. Scott comes out into the hallway again and sees his mother helping an elderly woman by the elevator from a wheelchair onto a stretcher. Most of the doors of the hospital rooms are closed and taped over, and the majority of people are waiting in line to get into the stairwell. Scott glances around, but he doesn’t see anyone else on the other end of the hospital. He sprints over to the line where Head Doctor Finch is reading over a checklist.

“Is there everyone out!?” he shouts close to her ear.

“Yes!” she shouts. “Go help carry those crates!”

But Scott is looking at her checklist and sees that Hayden Romero’s name at the top of the patient list, crossed off.

“What’s that mean?!” he says, pointing at her name.

“Immobile patient!” she replies, and then waves him towards the door. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, we’re leaving her here?!” he shouts, but she’s turned away and doesn’t hear him.

He remembers from orientation that during a Level 5 drill all power is rerouted to the bomb shelter and defense systems once evacuation is complete. Hayden is on a ventilator.

He grabs Dr. Finch by the arm and yanks her around. “We’re leaving her here?!”

“There’s no time!” she shouts back. “We can’t move her!”

“But she’ll die! We can’-”

The first bomb hits and the entire hospital shakes violently. Two fluorescent lights fall out of the ceiling and smash onto the floor, and Scott looks up fearfully, half-expecting the ceiling to cave in.

“Let’s go!” Dr. Finch shouts and the line speeds up out the stairwell door.

Scott watches them go, his mother already disappearing into the stairwell carrying into one end of the stretcher. His head hurts from the sirens, he’s sweating through his shirt, and there are _bombs_ falling, but he can’t make himself move. He cannot let that girl die.

He whirls around and sprints back down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of the supply room. It’s been picked apart, boxes of gauze and plastic gloves strewn across the floor, and he scans the room frantically for something he can use, panting for breath.

Even if he could bring the ventilator with them all the way down the stairs, there’s no way to use it without power during the trip. He’ll have to do it manually then, Scott thinks and grabs a bag valve mask underneath a pile of linens. He rips off the mask portion as he runs out of the room and down the hall, tossing it behind him without a glance. The sirens are still ear-piercing as ever and the lights are still on so there’s still power. He still has time to get down to the bomb shelter.

Another bomb rocks the hospital, and Scott stumbles into Hayden’s room, almost braining himself on the door frame. Hayden is still strapped down on the bed by the wrists, dark eyes wide and scared, and she jerks back in shock when he rushes forward and starts to unstrap her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” he yells, but he can’t tell if she hears him or not. She sits up and scrambles back the second he gets her other wrist free, and Scott glances down at the bag valve mask and hopes with everything he has that it will fit into her endotracheal tube. “We have to go!” he shouts, and then reaches forward to detach the respirator from endotracheal tube, but she bats his hand away defensively, eyes wide with fear.

She presses herself back against the headboard as far as she can go, expression panicked.

“We have to go!” Scott repeats, pointing from the respirator next to her bed and the bag valve mask. “NOW!”

She just looks terrified, trying to shrink into herself and away from him, but after a second her eyes widen and her mouth moves. It looks like his name.

“Yes, yes, I’m Scott McCall!” Scott shouts, though he has no idea how this is relevant. “Now please, let me hel-”

More bombs fall, and Hayden lurches forward and grabs at him, too-long fingernails digging into his forearm. He puts the patient outlet of the bag valve back to the hole in the endotracheal tube hanging down several inches from her bandaged neck and almost starts to cry with joy when it clicks into place perfectly. He compresses the bag and pushes air into her lungs, and watches it avidly until the bag self-inflates.

“We have to go!” he shouts, almost falling forward onto the bed as the room shakes with the force of another bomb. Are they nuclear? he thinks suddenly, and then pushes it out of his mind. He can’t think about that now. “C’mon!”

He pulls out her IV, wincing at her pained expression and pulls her intact leg so that it’s hanging off the bed. “Lean on me!” he yells, and ducks down to pull her arm over his shoulder. She doesn’t struggle as he lifts her out of bed and pauses to compress the bag again before taking the majority of her weight onto her side. She hops twice on her good leg, and then Scott compresses the bag before grasping her waist and pulling her towards the door. He should have brought a wheelchair, but there’s no time for that now.

It’s a slow going getting down the hallway to the stairs, both because of her one foot, but also because he has to make sure to compress the bag so she can breathe. Ideally she would do it herself, but she seems to be spending all her energy on hopping on her right leg, and Scott would worry about her overinflating her lungs. Going down the stairs is even harder, and Scott’s hands are so sweaty his right almost slips off the railing more than once. Slowly, but surely, they descend flight after flight and the sound of the sirens weaken.

“It’s okay,” he says, throat aching from yelling, stopping to pump more air into her lungs. They’ve just passed Level 25, and he can finally talk without raising his voice. Another bomb hits and he just manages to grab the railing in time as the stairs shake violently back and forth. Hayden clutches his shoulder tighter and makes a shocked rasping noise of fear. When Scott finally feels like he can move again, he takes another step down and pulls her down with his other foot, trying to brace as much of her weight as possible against his body. His body feels weak and he’s having a hard time breathing himself, that familiar feeling of being just on the verge of an asthma attack creeping up his chest. Why, oh why, hadn’t he grabbed an inhaler on his way out of the hospital? “We just have to keep moving.”

And as if on cue, the power goes out.

For a moment there is absolute silence. The sirens above them have shut off and the lights in the stairwell have gone out, leaving them in total darkness. Scott stands frozen in place for a couple second, horror spreading through him at the realization that the evacuation is complete. They are too late, the bomb shelter doors have closed.

“What’s...what’s going on?” Hayden rasps.

Scott pushes more air into her lungs in response.

“It’s okay,” he says numbly, talking a slow deep breath to calm himself. Maybe if they bang on the doors they’ll let them in, he thinks desperately. But he doubts it. “We still need to keep moving.”

“Why did the lights go off?” she asks.

“They’ve rerouted power.”

Hayden doesn’t respond and they take another couple steps downward, Scott’s hand starting to cramp up from continuously compressing the bag.

“I’m Scott, by the way,” he says as they reach the landing and he feels out in the pitch blackness with his right hand for the next railing.

“I know,” Hayden replies hoarsely, and oh, yeah, that’s right. Sometimes, Scott almost manages to forget that all of Panem knows his name.

Ten minutes later another bomb goes off, causing Scott to stumble, just managing to grab the next railing to prevent both of them from careening down the stairs.

“They’re coming…” Hayden says and Scott stills his hand on the bag so she can finish talking. “... further apart now.”

“Yeah,” he says tiredly. Even on Level 13 there didn’t seem to be much damage, just a few lights knocked out of the ceiling. Maybe they’ll give up soon.

He doesn’t know how long it takes them stumbling blindly in the dark to get to the bottom floor. Probably almost an hour. He knows now they never would have made it before the doors closed. When he ascertains that they’re finally at the bottom floor, he sits Hayden down against the wall and shows her the right rhythm to pump the bag valve mask before feeling around for the giant metal door that separates the bomb shelter for the rest of the rocky cavern. He pounds his hands against the door and shouts for a good ten minutes, but it doesn’t budge. It’s possible they can’t even hear him through the thick metal.

“It’s okay,” he says, reaching out in the dark to find his way back to where she’s sitting. His hand comes in contact with her head and he sits down carefully so as not to accidentally trip over her. “We’ll just wait until the come out.”

“How long will that be?” she rasps.

Scott doesn’t know. “Soon,” he tells her. There hasn’t been another explosion from the surface in an hour. “You okay? Want me to take over?”

“I’m okay,” she says.

Scott leans his head back against the rock, wishing more than anything he could take a nap. He’s soaked with sweat and it’s freezing all the way down here. He feels like he could sleep for days.

“They were going to leave me up there, weren’t they?” Hayden says.

Scott swallows and doesn’t reply. It’s pretty obvious what happened.

“Well, I did want to get...out of that room,” Hayden says, voice tight with suppressed emotion.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, turning to face her even though he can’t see a thing, not even her outline.

“Don’t be so...sorry,” she says, and then pauses for more air. “You know, it’s ironic...I really hated you in the Games.”

Really? Scott thinks, frowning.

“Not because of anything you did,” she continues hoarsely. “It was more the fact that you were still alive and Liam wasn’t.”

Scott doesn’t recognize the name.

“He was the other 5 Tribute.”

“Oh,” Scott says, and feels a horrible sinking sensation as he realizes that Hayden had to endure the same thing he had three years ago with Stiles. He tries to remember the District 5 boy, but all that comes to mind is that he was young. He can’t even remember his face.

The doors do not open soon. The bombs continue to fall only once every couple of hours, with no end in sight, like the goal of the entire airstrike is to keep the District on lockdown as long as possible. Hayden falls asleep and Scott has to slap himself several times in the face to keep from doing the same, switching hands on the mask valve bag.

Hours pass and Scott starts to get desperate. He forces himself to stand up, hoping it will help him stay awake, and when that doesn’t work he screws up his fist and punches the rock wall until he has bloody knuckles. The pain gives him more energy to stay awake (adrenaline), but then his stomach starts grumbling and he belatedly realizes that he doesn’t have any food or water. By the time Hayden wakes up, hours later, his mouth is dry with thirst.

“Hayden,” he says as she groans and shifts next to him. “Hey. Can you take over?”

She shifts uncomfortably, the cloth of her hospital gown brushing against his arm, and then reaches up to take the bag. Her fingers are like ice.

“I need to go back upstairs and see if I can find some food and water,” Scott says, hoarse himself now. He grips a protruding rock on the wall and uses it to pull himself up. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.”

“I can’t eat or drink anything,” she says weakly.

“I know. I’m going up to the hospital, I’ll grab a couple IV bags,” he says, head aching from thirst. “How are your burns? Do you need anything else?”

“They really hurt,” she says, sounding strained.

“Do you know what dose of morphling you were on?”

“No,” she whispers.

“Okay,” he says, because it probably doesn’t even matter. He has no idea how he’s going to figure out what is what in the dark. “Just, I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Don’t move, keep compressing the bag, and _don’t_ fall asleep.”

“Not going to be a...problem,” she says raspily.

“I’ll be back soon,” Scott promises, reaching out in front of him to find the stairs.

“Scott?” she says, after a moment. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Scott says, a chill running up his spine at her tone. It sounds like she’s saying goodbye.

He goes up the stairs as quickly as he can without worrying about running into something, though he does trip twice and fall nastily, no doubt leaving bruises on his shins. When he finally reaches Level 13, which he ascertains by feeling for the slightly raised numbers on the side of the wall, he leans down over the railing and shouts down into the blackness. “HAYDEN!”

He actually waits for a reply for a couple seconds until he realizes there’s no way she’ll be able to respond. “I’m at the hospital!” he shouts, breathing heavily and clutching at the ache in his chest. “I’ll be out soon!”

Thankfully the stairwell doors didn’t automatically lock when the power went out, and Scott manages feel his way to the supply room without tripping over anything. From there though, things get difficult. He gets a couple leftover IV bags from a fallen storage cabinet, but he has no way of knowing their contents. Any one of the standard electrolyte replacement solutions would probably be fine for the short-term, but something more unusual could cause all sorts of nasty complications. And who knows how long the bombing will last and District 13 is clearly set up to withstand a long siege. He has to prepare for the possibility that the bomb shelter doors could remain closed for a long time. He sits down on the supply room floor and closes his eyes in concentration, even though there is no light to block out.

If only there was some way he could _see_! There has to be a flashlight in here somewhere in cases of a power outage, but Scott can’t think of where it could be. He knows where the fire alarm and extinguisher is, but flashlights? Why don’t they have candles and matches here like they have at home? Antibiotics and painkillers will be impossible to find without light. Even if he went to the pharmacy, the entire room was a mess when he left it, pill bottles all over the floor. He tries to visualize the different rooms, the break room, the locker room, Dr. Finch’s office, but he can’t remember seeing anything like a flashlight.

Finally he decides his best bet is in the cabinets in one of the patient room where they often keep emergency equipment. He stumbles his way into the patient room across the hall and feels away along the wall until he reaches the cabinet. He finds boxes of gloves, gauze, bed sheets, bed pans, admission kits, and hospital gowns, but no flashlights. He’s just desperate enough to think about finding a crash cart and somehow using the defibrillator to create light, when he suddenly remembers the emergency kit built into the wall on every level with living quarters, containing a first aid kit, nonperishable food, a blanket, bottled water, and a _flashlight_.

He races up three flights, and then feels around the walls of the pitch black hallway for the smooth glass cover protecting the emergency kit. He smashes it with his elbows when he finds it and drags the large black bag out of the hole, broken glass flying all over his feet. He rips the bag open, feeling fabric, plastic wrappers, and _yes_ , a large plastic rectangle.

He fumbles with the switch and then gasps in relief as blinding white light shines onto the floor. It’s almost painful to look at, his eyes so accustomed to the dark now, but he doesn’t have time to revel in his success. He picks up the bag and then goes back down the hospital, the journey twice as fast with the bright light of the flashlight leading the way. From there it’s only a matter of packing up the IVs (dextrose and electrolyte replacement fluids) some patient meals left in the fridge, morphling and antibiotics shots, another blanket, an inhaler, a couple biohazard bags, burn ointment and extra bandages and gauze.

“Alright, I’m coming down!” He shouts into the stairwell, heaving the large black bag down the stairs.

He holds the bag and the inhaler in one hand and the flashlight in the other and takes the stairs down three at a time, stopping twice to use the inhaler and regain his breath.

“Hayden, you okay?!” he shouts as he finally reaches the final level. He shines the light around the huge cavern, taking in the natural rock formations, and finally lands on Hayden leaning against the wall.

She’s shockingly pale, though that’s maybe just the bright light, and her eyes flicker open weakly.

“Hey,” he says, dashing over to her side. He drops to his knees and pulls open the bag, balancing the flashlight against the wall so it shines on the contents of the bag. He puts the emergency blanket over her legs and then takes over on the mask valve bag for a minute. “You doing okay?”

“Really hurts,” she says weakly.

“Okay, just hold on,” Scott says, and then starts hooking up the IV bag of electrolyte replacement fluids, and then gives her a shot of morphling and an antibiotic.

He holds the IV bag up over her head and watches as the pained lines in her face smooth out as the morphling takes effect.

“That’s better,” she murmurs.

“Do you know when they last changed your bandages?” Scott asks, wondering if maybe he’d reopened old wounds on her torso going down the stairs.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly, and then pauses, her chest rising with air as he pushes another breath into her lungs. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

“A bit more than a week,” Scott tells her.

“Do you...do you know how long I’ll have to have this in my throat?” she asks, like she’s afraid of the answer.

No one told her? Scott thinks, horrified. “You got the surgery when you came here right?”

She doesn’t answer.

“I think that’s what I heard,” Scott continues, feeling worse. “And I think it takes two weeks to heal.”

“We can’t do this for a week,” Hayden says hollowly. She looks miserable, her face dimly illuminated by the flashlight.

“We won’t have to,” Scott insists firmly. “The bombing will be over by then.”

“You can’t know that,” she says and shudders, squeezing her eyes shut.

“They can’t keep it up forever,” Scott says, but a chill running through him at the thought of being stuck here for days.

 

* * *

 

But the bombs keep coming. He manages to sleep for an hour before Hayden wakes him up because she’s so tired she can’t keep compressing the bag valve mask. He changes her IV and the bandages on her torso, neck and stub, apologizing profusely for touching her bare skin as he smoothes burn ointment gently over her horrific scars. She looks pained, but otherwise doesn’t seem to care.

Hours pass. Scott has no idea how many, the only way to measure the time by Hayden’s IV bags. He turns the flashlight off when they don’t absolutely need it to save the battery, so they spend most of the time in total darkness. He eats two patient meals, but regrets it when he has to relieve himself into one of the biohazard bags, even though he’s had to help Hayden has to go to the bathroom every couple hours because of the IV.

Exhaustion presses in one him, the strain of using both hands, one of the bag and one holding the IV up, starting to cause strange thoughts to float through his brain.

“Hayden,” he says, a couple minutes after another bomb fell. “Talk...I can’t...I’m going to fall asleep.”

He’s leaning his arm up against the wall to hold up the IV, but his other hand aches, and he feels like he’s going to pass out at any second, dizziness spinning through him.

“What should I talk about?” Hayden’s voice comes through the dark, but for some reason it sounds like she’s all the way across the room. Scott blinks rapidly and inhales sharply, shifting against the wall. His hand hurts so much.

“Can you, can you take over?”

“Sure,” Hayden says, and he feels ice cold fingers take the bag.

Scott slumps against the wall in exhaustion. He just wants to sleep, but he’s afraid if he does he won’t wake up.

“My sister’s name is Valerie,” she says, while Scott flexes his fingers painfully. “She worked in a factory that made... parts for cars and trains. The Peacekeepers would lock the doors at the beginning of the shift and then wouldn’t unlock them...until the end. That’s how our parents died. There was a fire. When Liam got Reaped...she…” her voice breaks. “She held my hand the entire time we watched the Games. When he...when he died, she skipped work and took Mason and I...to the park where we all used to play as kids…”

She doesn’t continue and Scott’s chest hurts in sympathy for her. Well, no. Empathy.

“My best friend died in the Games three years ago,” he says suddenly. He’s too tired to regret it.

He hears her sniff audibly. “Really?” she asks, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Yeah,” Scott says, head lolling back. He feels like he can see something as he looks up in the black, but he knows it’s just his imagination. “I was Reaped. He volunteered for me.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, and then she really does start crying, choking.

“Hayden!” Scott says reaching out for her blindly. He makes contact with her shoulder. “Hayden, I’m sorry, please, you can’t cry, just-”

He takes over the bag valve mask, and crouches awkwardly next to her while she shakes and tries to calm down.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she gasps. It’s a sentiment that Scott understands well.

“We’re going to die down here and I’ll never see my sister again,” she continues, shaking almost violently now. “I don’t understand why…she didn’t come with me, why didn’t she stay in 5?! Why did she send me to this horri-”

“Hayden, Hayden, you have to stop, you’re going to hurt your throat,” Scott says frantically. He still feels hazy, but the fear of her hurting herself gives him energy. “Just stop, okay? You’re going to be fine, alright? You’ll see Valerie again, I promise. We’re going to make it through this.”

He pulls the blanket up to her shoulders and the slumps against the wall at her side, the rocky edges of the cavern digging uncomfortably into his raised arm holding the IV. His own blanket fell off when he got up to go to her, but he’s too tired to sit up and get it.

“We’re going to make it through this,” he repeats.

Hayden takes over after a bit, and he starts to drift in and out of sleep, jerking awake when he realizes what’s happening. She tries to keep him awake, but it gets increasingly difficult as the hours go by and the bombs keep falling. Hayden insists that he eat, even trying to get up and get him food, but Scott manages to stop her and get the meal himself. She tries to convince him that he can sleep, but he can’t. If she passes out for any reason, she’ll die if he’s not paying attention.

The hours narrow down to eating, drinking, changing Hayden’s IV, helping her with the bathroom, and trying to stay awake. He slaps his cheek and rocks back and forth, and when that doesn’t work, punches the wall a couple more times after Hayden falls asleep again.

He starts talking to himself, under his breath, nonsense mostly, just random thoughts. Things about growing up in 12, about Stiles, his mother, his father, the Games, Isaac, Allison, District 13, his training to be a doctor, the hospital, Peter, President Calavera, Allison and Isaac going to fight in the Capitol…

“No, no, no, no,” he mumbles. “Don’ think about that. Just try to...to-”

“What?” Hayden asks, sounding confused.

“Nothing,” Scott says, opening his eyes wide in the darkness. “I’m just talking to myself.”

“Can you, can you give me some more morphling?” she asks weakly. “I...I’ve been trying not to ask for anymore, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Scott says tiredly. He fumbles around for the flashlight and both he and Hayden groan when he turns it on, the bright light blinding them. He blinks several time and then crawls forward toward the black bag and digs out another morphling shot.

It takes him three times as long to find a vein to give her the shot, bright lights dancing in front of his vision. When he does, she doses off again and Scott switches hands with the IV and bag, staring hard into the flashlight before he turns it off so that it leaves spots on his vision.

Another bomb falls and tears spring unbidden to Scott’s eyes. They’re never going to stop. They’re going to be stuck down here until Scott finally passes out from exhaustion and Hayden suffocates to death.  He sobs quietly against the wall, and then slams his forehead against it once for good measure.

Don’t you _dare_ , McCall, he think furiously. Don’t you dare give up. If you give up, that girl dies. He focuses on the rhythm of his compressions on the bag, mind going numb as he focuses all his energy into his left hand.

But not enough energy, because the next thing he knows Hayden is making choking noises next to him and twitching.

Shit! His hand has gone numb, but he forces it to move with his other hand, pushing air into Hayden’s lungs with more force than is probably necessary.

“Hayden?” he says hoarsely when she’s stopped choking, but she doesn’t reply. He reaches out to feel for her pulse, and it’s slightly elevated, but otherwise she seems fine, just unconscious.

He’s too tired to cry, and just slumps against the wall again, eyelids heavy. He’s not going to be able to do this much longer. When Hayden wakes up he’s going to have to go to sleep, at least for an hour or two. It’s just he doesn’t think Hayden has the energy to keep pumping herself air for that long.

He’s grinding his bloody knuckles into the stone wall the keep himself alert when the lights suddenly jolt back to life.   

At first he thinks a Capitol bomb finally broke through and has killed them all.The white light is blinding and he instinctively claps his hands over his eyes. Then Hayden groans next to him and he realizes that the power’s come back on. He tries to open his eyes, but he can’t see a thing besides white light, and it’s so painful, he has to close his eyes almost immediately. He starts pumping air again, and buries his head in the crook of his arm to get away from piercing fluorescent lights.

Then there’s a loud grinding metal sound and Scott peers out to see the giant bunker doors opening. His heart leaps with joy as he hears the sounds of people talking and footsteps. Someone yells for a medic and Scott blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the dark shapes against the bright white background.

People gather around him and someone tries to take the bag valve mask out of his hand, but he jerks in away in a panic.

“It’s alright, we have her,” a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize says, and Scott’s just aware enough to watch people in white surround Hayden and start checking her vitals. He lets them take away the breathing apparatus the second time and tries to pull himself into a standing position using the wall as leverage.

“Whoa, hey, sit down,” someone tells him, but Scott isn’t really listening, still blinking rapidly to try and make sense of the sight before him.

“Scott!” he hears someone shouts, and a figure in gray pushes past the throng of people crowding at the front of the bunker.

Scott vaguely registers that it’s Isaac’s voice before he’s swept into his arms, nose colliding with Isaac’s shoulder.

“Scott? Scott? Scott?” he hears Isaac say, and feels hands on his face, Isaac’s breath sharp and frantic against his cheek.

“Hey,” Scott murmurs and smiles. His eyes are still burning, so he leaves them closed, leaning against Isaac’s warm body.

“Are you...why were you...are you okay?” Isaac asks, sounding terrified. His hand is very warm on the back of Scott’s neck.

“Mmhm,” Scott mumbles. His head hurts.

His left hand is clasped between another pair of hands, small, and Scott knows those hands.

“Scott?” Allison says softly. He can smell her shampoo and smiles, pulling her in closer.

“Hey,” she says, putting one hand on the center of his back. “You’re alright.”

“What happened?” Isaac asks, clutching Scott tighter. “Why didn’t you-”

Scott is too tired to explain, so he just tilts his head up and kisses Isaac gently. Isaac brings up both hands to cup his cheeks and kisses him back for a moment, before Scott gets too tired and has to pull away to lie his head on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Scott!” his mother says, and Scott opens his eyes a crack to see his mother running towards him, his father on her heels.

“Hi, mom,” Scott says tiredly as she reaches him.

His mother glances between him and something off to the side, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, _Scott_ ,” she says.

“I’m okay,” Scott says, not wanting to see her upset. “I’m just really tired.”

She says something in reply, but Scott doesn’t catch it, and then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All medical inaccuracies are because it's the ~future~, okay? 
> 
> This chapter was super intense to write! I wanted to do something a bit different than what happens in the book, but also keep major plot points the same, so I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Next chapter: More screwed-up relationship dynamics and awkward sex! I am sure you are all very shocked.
> 
> Please comment!


	18. The Reconstruction

Scott wakes up to an empty hospital room. His head aches and his mouth feels as dry as paper, but he finds it easy enough to sit up. He glances at the IV in his arm and then at the heart monitor machine next to the bed. It isn’t attached to his chest, but it’s powered on and the text in the corner reads 13:38, October 11th. Four days after the sirens first rang through District 13.

He hears the distant bustle of people working outside his room and winces. He’s missed all of morning classes and half of rounds. He gingerly swings his feet over the side of the bed, and prepares himself to pull out the IV.

“Scott?” his mother says, coming into the room. “You’re awake.”

“Hey,” Scott says hoarsely, and the sound of his own voice reminds him of how he got here in the first place. “Where’s Hayden? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” his mom says quickly, and comes to sit down next to him on the edge of his bed. She puts her hand on his shoulder and then leans in to hug him, gentler than she usually does.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says shakily.

Scott closes his eyes, feeling his ears go hot.

“It’s...it was. I had to, you know,” he says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry that I worried you, I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t-”

“I know,” she says, pulling back and wiping the tears off her cheek. “You did good. You’re going to be a great doctor.”

“They were going to leave her to die,” Scott bursts out, a sick feeling in his stomach. “They were just going to leave her. I don’t understand them. And the way they treated her, like she was an annoyance because she was upset, I-”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” his mother says, cupping his face gently. “It’s wrong, but you can only control what you do. And you’ll be different. You’ll be a great doctor because of it.”

Scott feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment and nods silently, because she’s right. He’ll be different. He has to be.

“I have to go back to work,” his mother says, smiling sadly. “But I’ll be by whenever I can to check in on you.”

“No, I’m fine, I can leave,” Scott says, not wanting to sit in bed doing nothing.

“No, you need to rest, honey,” his mom says. “I’ll see if you can get discharged before dinner, but I want you to stay here and try to get some more sleep. Can you do that for me?”

Scott gives her a reproachful look. “You’re trying to guilt me into staying in bed.”

“Is it working?” his mother asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he scowls, and pulls his legs back into bed.

“That’s my boy,” she says with a smile and then leans into kiss his forehead, squeezing his arm as she gets up and head for the door.

Scott watches her go mournfully, and then frowns when she stops in the doorway.

“Scott?” she says, turning around slowly.

“Yeah,” Scott says when she doesn’t continue, looking at him in apprehension.

She looks at him searchingly for another long pause. “Yesterday...you kissed Isaac.”

Scott feels his chest go tight and cold, like all the warmth from the previous moment has been ripped away from him. He tries to think of something to say, but all he can do is wait in terror for her judgement.

“That’s not the first time you’ve kissed him, is it?” she asks, face taut. It’s the same look she’d always had when his father was hours late coming home on pay day.

“No,” Scott replies, very quiet.

She swallows, and the pained look on her face makes Scott want to vomit. This can’t be happening, he thinks blankly. His mother cannot be looking at him like that.

“I thought so,” she says hollowly, and then turns to leave the room.

Scott sits frozen in bed staring after her. It’s probably a good thing he’s not attached to the heart monitor.

He tries to get some more sleep, but he feels sick and his heart is pounding in his chest so quickly that it almost hurts. He tosses and turns for a bit, but finally the misery is so overwhelming he has to do something to distract himself. He gets out of bed and puts on his robe and slippers before peaking out into the hallway. No one seems to be paying him any attention, so he walks quickly four doors down to Hayden’s room. Thankfully she’s still in it and is awake.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at her. It takes more effort than he thought.

“Hey,” she croaks, eyes lighting up.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

She makes a face and raises her wrists as far as they can go with the restraints.

“Oh,” Scott says, and immediately reaches out of undo them. He sits down in the metal chair next to the bed and watches as she carefully sits up and moves her wrists back and forth experimentally.

“Sorry,” he says, a pang of sympathy in his chest. “I’ll tell them they don’t need to do that anymore.”

“You think they’ll listen?” she rasps, but overall looks pleased with her current situation.

Scott doesn’t answer. The brief feeling of relief that he felt seeing that she was alright dissipates, leaving him just as cold and miserable as before.

“Are _you_ doing okay?” she asks, noticing his despondence.

“I’m good, just a little woozy,” he says automatically.

“Did you get in trouble?” she asks, not convinced.

And yet another thing he has to worry about, Scott realizes with a panicked twinge. Would they punish him for not following the evacuation orders?

“No, it’s not that, it’s…” Scott says nervously. He trails off, trying to think of what to say. He fails.

“You know, Isaac Lahey and Allison Argent?” he says dubiously, not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

“Yes,” Hayden says coldly, and Scott is confused until he remembers the Games. He realizes with a jolt of horror that he can’t remember who Allison and Isaac killed before he met up with them.

What if one of them killed Hayden’s friend? he thinks, examining Hayden’s face carefully for clues. When it was nameless Tributes whose faces he could barely remember, he could console himself with the fact that Allison and Isaac had no choice and not think about the specifics. But what is he going to do if they killed this poor girl’s friend, how is he going to reconcile that? If it was Isaac at least he could know it was self-defense, but what if it was Allison? What if he was one of the ones she cut down at the Cornucopia without a second’s pause?

“Why are you...oh, no, neither of them killed Liam,” Hayden says, looking unimpressed. “Not that they would’nt’ve, given the chance. You do know that Argent had the highest kill count before you all escaped, right?”

Scott didn’t know that, and feels a little lightheaded. He sags back against the metal chair and takes a steadying breath, heart pounding in his chest.

“No, I didn’t know that,” he says calmly.

“Did they do something?” she asks.

“No, it’s...it’s nothing,” Scott replies. His problems would probably sound extremely petty to her.

An awkward silence falls over them, and Scott is just about to make an excuse and leave, when Dr. Finch strides into the room.

“McCall,” she barks, turning her cold brown eyes on him. “With me. Now.”

Scott gets to his feet way too fast, and has to blink rapidly against the head rush.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Hayden nervously, and follows Dr. Finch out of the hospital room and down the hall back into his room.

“Sit,” she orders, pointing to his bed, and Scott complies, his heart in his throat as he watches her shut the door.

“Never, _ever_ do something like that again,” she tells him furiously, unsmiling mouth drawn up in a scowl. “If you defy a direct order from me again, I will expel you from this program, do I make myself clear?”

“You left her to die,” Scott retorts, with more vitriol than he realized was going to come out of his mouth. “You were going to let her suffocate because you couldn’t take _five minutes_ to figure out how to transport her-”

“Spare me your moral outrage,” she snaps, disgusted. “You have no idea the bullet you just dodged. I covered for you with President Calavera this time, but I will not do it again.”

“Covered?” Scott says in confusion. How could she cover for him? He was right outside when the bomb shelter doors opened. Hundreds of people must have seen him and Hayden on their way out of the shelter. How could Dr. Finch have possibly covered that up? “What are you talking about?”

“I told her you were under my orders,” Finch says, tone still hostile.

Scott stares. “Why would you do that?” he asks slowly.

She gives him an unimpressed look. “She was hardly pleased, but fortunately for the both of us, she saw the merit in ensuring the safety of the sister of one of the leaders of the rebels in District 5,” she says, not answering his question. “You’re lucky you chose her and not the old woman on life support in Room 15.”

Scott feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. He inhales shakily and clutches the bedsheets beneath him. “There were more people on ventilators?”

She doesn’t reply, just gives him a look, half pity, half irritation.

“Oh,” Scott says dully, his chest throbbing painfully. Of course. He should have realized. Why didn’t he even think of that?

“There were three people on ventilators,” Finch says cooly. “There is no way you could have helped them all.”

“Yeah,” Scott says quietly. “No, I know.”

“Look,” Finch says, exhaling sharply. “I realize this is foreign to you, but you have to follow the rules here, even if you don’t agree with them. There is more at stake here than you know.”

Scott doesn’t reply. The thing is, he’s usually very good at following the rules. Until he isn’t.

Finch seems to be waiting for him to say something, to promise he’ll stay in line, but Scott can’t. That’s just not who he is.

“Have it your way then,” Finch says after a moment, face lined with disgust. “Just don’t expect me to cover for you again.”

“That’s fair,” Scott says mildly. He never imagined she would cover for him in the first place, so it’s not exactly a huge disappointment.

She snorts. “You know for someone who spends so much of his time trying to do the right thing, you have a very low opinion of everyone else.”

Scott frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her white scrubs. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s very pragmatic. Doubtless most of your life experience has lead you to this belief. It doesn’t explain your continued association with those two, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks tersely. What does Finch know about Allison and Isaac? She hasn’t even seen the Games. He hopes she hasn’t seen the Games.

“They created quite a scene when you didn’t show up in the bunker,” Finch says. “I know President Calavera worries that such devotion means you’ll be able to convince others to follow their lead, but I don’t. It’s quite clear that their loyalty to you stems from the fact that you’re probably the only person who’s ever been nice to them without an ulterior motive in their lives.”

Scott’s heart leaps in his chest and his eyes widen. How could she know that?

“Don’t look so surprised,” Finch says, rolling her eyes irritably. “The girl’s from a family who sends their children to fight to the death for their own gain, and one look at the boy’s medical chart shows clear abuse. It’s not an unfounded assumption.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Scott snaps, hackles rising at her blithe references to terrible truths.

“Because I’m trying to help you!” she retorts angrily. “You act, but you do not understand. I need you to _think_ before you do anything like that again, _think_ about who you spend your ti-”

“If I thought about it Hayden would be dead,” Scott replies, but he’s more confused than angry over why they’re even having this conversation. Why does she even care?

Finch shakes her head despairingly. “Well, I tried. Don’t come crying to me when you realize how unsustainable this is.”

Scott can’t help the weak smile that creeps across his face. Everything about his life has always been unsustainable. The fact that he’s still alive is nothing short of a miracle.

She looks puzzled for a moment and then lets out a bitter laugh. “Add self-preservation to the list of things you need to obtain,” she says, and then turns on her heel and leaves the room.

Scott watches the door for a moment and then lies back down on the bed, tears brimming at his lids. He’s so tired.

He falls into an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning in the uncomfortably narrow bed, before finally waking to the sound of hushed voices.

“...been three days, why isn’t he waking up?”

“Melissa said he’ll wake up soon.”

“You believe her?”

“...you think she’s lying to us?”

“...I don’t know.”

There’s a long pause, accompanied by the sound of footsteps padding up and down the length of his bed.

“She doesn’t like us.”

“No one likes us.”

“You think that’s funny?”

“I don’t really care.”

“Look, they took his IV out. Doesn’t he need that?”

“Stop talking, Isaac, do you want us to get caught?”

Scott frowns at this and opens an eye blearily. He shift his face off the pillow and looks to the right to see Allison and Isaac staring at him intently.

“Hey,” he says raspily. His mouth somehow tastes even more terrible than it did the first time he woke up.

He pushes himself up into a seated position, and then his eyes widen in shock when Allison strides forward suddenly and wraps her arms around him.

“Hey,” Scott says gently, putting his arm around her. She doesn’t speak or lift her head from his shoulder, and Scott glances up at Isaac helplessly after a moment. It’s not very helpful, Isaac is staring at him tearfully, like he wants to reach out for Scott as well, but is paralyzed somehow.

Scott expects...something. Them to be angry. They usually are when he risks his life, especially for someone they don’t care about. But Allison just clings to him, and Isaac just stares. And Scott...Scott is so, _so_ tired.

“I’m pretty sure I can go,” he tells them, leaning his head down against Allison’s. “So…do you want to…?”

They go back to Level 5, and the second Isaac shuts the door Scott is on him, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing him desperately. Isaac responds without missing a beat and then hauls Scott back to the bed, hands sliding under his shirt.

“Come here,” Scott demands once his back hits the mattress and Isaac pulls off his shirt and crawls over him, mouthing at Scott’s neck. Allison sits down at the edge of the bed by his head and leans down to kiss him while Scott clutches at Isaac’s shoulders, trying to focus on nothing but the here and now.

“Isaac,” Scott pulls away from Allison’s mouth to groan after a minute, lifting his hips off the bed as Isaac pushes his trousers down. “Can you...I want…”

“What?” Isaac pants, lifting his head to look at Scott quizzically.

“I want you to, you know,” Scott stumbles over his words, wishing more than anything that he didn’t have to say it. “Can you...inside me?”

“Really?” Isaac says in surprise, a grin starting to spread across his face.

“Yeah,” Scott breathes, wrapping an arm around Isaac’s back. “I just need to…”

He needs not to be alone with his thoughts. He needs a break, somewhere to hide before this day can get even worse.

Allison gets up to toss Isaac the lube and then helps him with the rest of his clothes while Isaac pops off the cap. Then she curls into his side and strokes his hair, and Scott shudders at the relief of the feel of her body against his, how safe it always feels in her arms. Even if she is a murderer.

Isaac’s fingers inside him feel strange and intrusive, in addition to the obvious reasons. Isaac always does this part to himself, and Scott wonders if that’s how it’s supposed to be, that it’s rude to have another person do this for you. But fortunately, Isaac’s fingers touch something deep inside him that radiates pleasure, and Scott gasps, all concerns pushed from his mind.

“Hah, good?” Isaac smirks down at him, repeating the movement of his fingers, and Scott’s eyes nearly roll back into his head in pleasure.

“Yeah,” Scott says shakily, shifting his hips up for more. He doesn’t know why exactly that feels so good and he doesn’t care. “I...can you…”

“Shh, we’ll take care of you,” Allison whispers in his ear, and then shifts to kiss his jaw.

Scott’s eyes slip shut and he tilts his head back and moans quietly under their hands and mouths. Isaac’s fingers are relentless, to the point it almost becomes painful, but a single jerk of his dick is all it takes for Scott to spend with a moan.

He slumps back onto the mattress and turns to the side, breathing heavily into the pillow, which certainly doesn’t help him regain his breath. He reaches out clumsily to push it out of the way after a second and then resumes his panting.

“Isaac,” he groans after a minute of silence. He can feel Allison at his back, but he doesn’t know where Isaac is. He rolls on his back and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. “Hey.”

Isaac is sitting awkwardly at his hip, staring down at him with an odd expression on his face. It makes Scott’s insides squirm uncomfortably.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for him. “C’mon.”

Isaac’s leans down to cover him with his body, but he still looks oddly hesitant. “Maybe, um,” he says uncomfortably. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“What?” Scott says, confused. He can feel Isaac’s erection against his hip, why is he suddenly changing his mind?

“I mean, you know, you’ve never…” Isaac says, sitting up all of a sudden, looking dubious.

“So?” Scott says, but his heart skip with nervousness. His inexperience never bothered Isaac before.

“I mean, it kinda hurts the first couple times,” Isaac says, seeming to shrink into himself in discomfort.

“I know that,” Scott says, wishing they could be done with this conversation and they could just get on with it already. He maybe be inexperienced, but he’s not completely naive. He knows that’s how sex works. He’s overheard his mother explaining it to new brides so many times. Sex is painful at first, but eventually you get used to it. If every woman in Panem can do it, he doesn’t see why he can’t.

“C’mon,” he says, a desperate tinge to his voice. “Please, I need you to…”

“I...okay,” Isaac concedes and Scott has to hold back a sigh of relief. He’s spent so much time mentally preparing himself for this he has no idea what he’d do if Isaac backed out.

“It’s, um, easier if you turn over,” Isaac says awkwardly, making a rolling motion with his finger.

Scott cringes inwardly at the thought, but complies, rolling over onto his side so he’s facing Allison. She reaches out to cup his face and leans her forehead against his, and he guesses it’s not so bad. He’s always liked being between them.

It’s certainly not pleasant, but it’s not as bad as he thought it would be. Isaac’s dick inside him aches uncomfortably, but it doesn’t feel like he’s being torn apart like he’s heard some women describe it. And he can feel little twinges that make him think it could be good eventually, with practice. Isaac makes desperate moaning noises in his ear, and that’s definitely flattering too, though Scott wishes he could see his face. Allison is his anchor through it all, stroking her hand up and down his side and pressing gentle kisses to his face while he grimaces.

“Scott,” Isaac moans after a couple minutes, thrusts increasing to a painful rhythm. “Scott, Scott, Scott, Sc-”

He pulls out suddenly and spends on the small of Scott’s back, and Scott would laugh at the grossness of it, but he’s too relieved it’s over. He turns back to Isaac, pleasantly surprised at only a dull ache between his legs. He’s probably not even bleeding.

“You…” Isaac pants, his face and chest bright red. He looks down at Scott and realizes at the same time Scott does that he’s half-hard. He slides down to take him in his mouth, and Scott considers protesting because he’s really too tired to want to do anything about it, but reconsiders once Isaac starts doing incredibly nice things with his tongue. Scott spends with a weak cry and barely manages to snuggle into Isaac’s chest before he falls fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes, he’s been shifted to the edge of the bed. Isaac is in the middle, asleep and huddled close to Allison, who is stroking his hair, but Scott’s sleepy smile at seeing them affectionate with each other slides off his face once he focuses in on Isaac’s red, tear-stained cheeks.

He sits up in a panic, wincing at the ache and stickiness between his legs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Allison quietly, cold fear rolling through him.

Allison looks unsure. “I don’t…” she says, uncharacteristically hesitant. “He’s kind of sensitive, I guess.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t say this mockingly. Confused, yes, but not condemnatory. She glances down at his reddened cheeks and pulls her hand out of his hair before looking back up at Scott. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott says quickly, not at all comforted by her lack of definitiveness. “Just, why, what happened?!”

Did he do something wrong?

Allison shrugs with one shoulder, keeping her left hand firmly on Isaac’s naked waist. “I think he’s just...weird about the whole…” She makes a vague gesture with her other hand.

Isaac stirs before Scott can ask her to elaborate, woken by their voices, and Scott immediately scoots to his side.

“Hey,” he says shakily, and reaches out to touch his face, but thinks better of it before he makes contact and withdraws his hands. “Isaac, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Isaac opens his eyes and looks up at him, but immediately looks away, pressing his face further into Allison’s side.

“Uh huh,” he mumbles. “Fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Scott says, unable to keep the high edge of panic out of his voice.

He shifts against the damp sheets, wincing at the ache between his legs, and tries not to freak out more than he already is. Why won’t Isaac look at him?

“It’s nothing,” Isaac mutters with an abortive shrug, shoulders curling away from Scott as far as possible.

It’s not nothing. It is very clearly not nothing. Scott looks up at Allison again, but he sees just as much confusion on her face as must be on his.

“Can you...can you tell me what’s wrong?” Scott says, trying to keep his voice light. He’s never been more aware of how much he wants to touch Isaac than in this moment, to reach out and comfort him, but he knows he can’t and it _hurts_ not to. Tight in his chest like before an asthma attack.

“I don’t know,” Isaac says, hiding his face further into Allison’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just feel...I’m just-”

Without any warning, he rolls over and lunges at Scott, wrapping an arm around his waist and curling up to hide his face against Scott’s ribcage.

“Hey, hey,” Scott says gently and pulls him off a little so he can lie back down on the bed. Isaac goes with him, keeping his face pressed against Scott’s skin, as Scott pulls him up his body. “Isaac, c’mere.”

Isaac is shaking, hands clenched into fists and Allison helps Scott pull the bedcovers over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Isaac says, the word coming out through clenched teeth and muffled by Scott’s shoulder.

“Hey, no, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Scott says, quickly wiping away tears that have pooled at the corners of his eyes. He cups the back of Isaac’s neck gently and smoothes his thumb over the hair there. His voice is calm and level. He can do that at least.

“No, I…” Isaac says, and then doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Isaac, we need you to tell us what’s wrong,” Allison says, putting her hand carefully on Isaac’s waist. “We don’t know why you’re so upset.”

“I screwed up,” Isaac breathes. “I knew I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry, Scott.”

“What did you screw up?” Allison says calmly, and Scott is so grateful, because he doesn’t think he could keep his composure and get that question out.

“I’ve never been with someone who hasn’t, who’d never-” Isaac chokes out, giving a violent twitch under the covers.

Scott doesn’t understand what he means, but fortunately Allison does.

“You’ve never been with a virgin before,” she says, the corner of her mouth slightly downturned in a frown.

“Why...why is that bad?” Scott asks helplessly, voice breaking on the words. He doesn’t understand this. Why Isaac is like this. Is it because of him?

“I shouldn’t’ve…” Isaac gasps, fingers tightening on Scott’s side. “I’m sorry, Scott. I fucked up.”

“What...what are you talking about?” Scott says, trying and failing to keep the sob out of his voice. “Isaac, I don’t understand, please…”

Isaac pulls back, his face a blank mask, and rolls onto his back, causing Allison to quickly shift out of the way to make room. They both watch avidly as Isaac stares up at the ceiling of the small compartment, taking artificially slow breaths.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Isaac says to the ceiling.

“Why do you think that?” Allison asks him calmly, while Scott feels his stomach drop, cold sweat dripping down his back.

Isaac flinches and brings his hand up to cover his eyes.

“Isaac,” Allison says sharply, looking down at Isaac intensely. “Explain.”

Isaac seems to shrink into himself and doesn’t respond.

“Isaac, I’m _fine_ ,” Scott tries to reassure him, because he thinks that’s what Isaac’s worried about. He inches as close to him on the bed as he can without touching him. “I swear.”

Isaac cringes. “Don’t pretend it was good,” he mutters, still refusing to look at Scott.

“It was!” Scott insists, but Allison gives him a dubious look.

“I mean,” Scott qualifies, when Isaac doesn’t respond. “It was the first time, so...But, it’ll, it’ll get better...” he says, trailing off uncertainly.

Allison smiles at him reassuringly, and then leans down over Isaac, reaching out to cup his face. “Isaac,” she says in that gentle tone of voice she only uses for _them_. “You were very good. You were very careful, and very gentle, and you did everything you were supposed to do.”

Isaac looks up at her a little disbelievingly, his cheeks flushing. He shifts uncertainly, squirms actually, and then finally turns to look hesitantly at Scott.

Scott tries to smile for him, but it feels strange on his face, and he can’t imagine it looks genuine.

“Okay…” he says slowly, but Scott’s pretty sure it’s more of a question than a statement.

“Okay,” Scott repeats, stupidly, but he can’t think of anything else to say, heart still thrumming with nervousness.

Isaac hesitantly reaches out for Scott’s hip, but Scott intercepts his hand with his own and clasps it tightly. He scoots a little closer, and feels a weight off his chest when Isaac leans forward to press his forehead against Scott’s neck.

“Sorry,” Isaac mutters, but this time Scott can tell it’s for his reaction.

“S’okay,” Scott says, wrapping his arms around Isaac as best he can. He doesn’t really understand why this bothered Isaac so much, but at least he’s pretty sure it’s over now. He looks over at Allison gratefully and is unexpectedly touched at the soft look in her eyes as she watches them. He reaches over Isaac’s body with his right hand to hold her hand as well, and feels a little more tension seep out of his chest as she takes it and leans down to kiss the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor babies are so screwed up. :(


	19. The Wedding

Derek and Braeden’s wedding is postponed because of the bombing, but only for a couple days. Scott would have thought they’d want to finish the repairs on the upper levels,  especially since the backup generators were destroyed. But despite all their reluctance to have any sort of celebration, 13 seems to throw themselves into the preparations as straightforwardly as they do anything else, and within a week the Collective has been filled with tables and a mixture of odd seaweed and wildflower decorations. Of course, the whole District can’t attend, and more than one of Scott’s classmates come up to him with questions, as if he’s the expert on District 13 weddings between rebelling Victors.

Still, Scott’s looking forward to it, even if he’s pretty sure the only reason for 13’s accommodations is because they think it’ll make a good propo. It’ll be nice to take a break from work, and he hasn’t been to a party since May Day. He’s not really sure how fun a party planned by 13 could possibly be, but it’ll be good to spend a night doing something other than not-talking to his mother after dinner

He goes to see Hayden during his break two days before the wedding and is shocked to find that her breathing tube has been removed.

“Hey, I thought it wasn’t going to be another three days,” he says, coming into the room and sitting down in the metal chair at her bedside.

“They said I was healing fast so they moved it up,” she says hoarsely, and uses the bedrails to push herself up into a seated position. There’s still a thin incision in her throat and Scott makes a mental note to ask why it hadn’t been sutured closed.

“They said it’ll close on it’s own,” Hayden says, no doubt noticing his gaze. Her leg twitches under the blankets and she winces slightly.

“How are you doing?” Scott asks. “They’ve been treating you okay?”

“You don’t have to ask that every time you visit,” she rasps, but she looks touched nonetheless. The nurses had eventually stopped restraining her after Scott started taking the manacles off every time he came to visit and she didn’t put up a fight. But after witnessing the way they treated her during his trainee lesson, Scott worries they might be cruel to her in other ways, and he’s not sure she would tell him if that’s the case.

“I’m just bored, honest,” she says, when she sees his face. “There’s nothing to do here. They don’t even have books. And what kind of hospital doesn’t have a TV? I mean one with things on it other than updates about the war every couple days.”

“You’re not in pain?” Scott asks.

“It’s much better now,” she says with a shrug. “I still get the phantom pains, but they said those probably won’t go away. Otherwise the painkillers work pretty well.”

“What about food?” Scott asks, gesturing to the full tray on her side table. “Are you eating?”

“Are you my doctor now?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “I’m just not hungry. It’s probably a side effect of my meds.”

“You have to eat to get better.”

“I hate turnips,” she says, making a face. “You want it?”

“I’m not going to eat your food,” Scott protests. And yeah, the bowl of turnip slop and a piece brown bread on her tray does not look particularly appetizing, but he can tell by the hollowness of her cheeks that she’s lost a lot of weight in a short period of time.

“I just want to leave this room,” she says, and edge of frustration entering her hoarse voice. “I’m going crazy in here. It’s enough to wish for another air raid.”

“Don’t say that,” Scott says, turning to make sure no one’s passing in front of her open door.

“It’s a joke,” she says, rolling her eyes, and pushes a piece of thin black hair out of her eyes. Other than her bangs, most of her hair is tied back today, and it makes her look vaguely like a girl who lived a couple houses down from him in 12.

“They _really_ do not take jokes well here,” Scott stresses.

“No kidding,” she says bitterly. “You don’t...happen to know when I’m going to able to get out of here, do you?”

“No, sorry,” Scott says. “I tried asking your doctor a couple times, but he didn’t really want to talk to me. I think your burns are probably going to have to heal before they discharge you. And your foot...I’m not sure.”

“Will I get a prosthetic?” she asks, looking down at the space where her right foot should be under the blanket and then her eyes flick away quickly, like she’s afraid at it. He remembers her not looking at it when he changed the bandages by flashlight down outside the bunker.

“I don’t know,” Scott says. He hasn’t seen anyone with prosthetic limbs in 13, not like in the Capitol. “I’ll ask.”

“Thanks,” she says, and then has to turn away, blinking her eyes rapidly. Scott pretends not to notice her tears and examines his nails instead. They’re getting a bit long, he should probably cut them before the wedding.

“Do you-” Scott starts, and then cuts himself off. No, that’s crazy.

“What?” she says, looking at him with so expectantly, like she’s hanging onto his every word, and it makes his mind up for him.

“Derek and Braeden’s wedding is in two days. Would you want to go?” he asks, mind already racing with how to make it happen.

“Derek and Bra-the victors? They’re getting married?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I mean, I know it’s crazy, but if you think you could sit up for that long.”

“Just dope me up with painkillers,” she says, looking more alert than he’s seen her in days. “Do you think you can get me out?”

“If we get a wheelchair...if I get one out of storage at lunch and leave it here overnight...” Scott trails off, mostly thinking outloud.

“I mean, will they let me leave?”

“All outsiders are automatically invited,” Scott says with a shrug. “Looks good for the cameras.”

“I don’t think they’re going to discharge me for that,” she says unhappily.

“Yeah, this is going to be one of those ask for forgiveness later things,” Scott says wryly.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be crazy,” he says when she looks apprehensive. “They don’t really do parties in 13, so no one knows what to expect. If someone stops us, I’ll just tell them Head Doctor Finch gave you permission to go.”

“Couldn’t you get in trouble for that?” she asks, unconvinced. She’s looking at him with vague worry on her face, propped up against the headboard of the bed awkwardly.

Probably. He knows, objectively, that this is a terrible idea, especially when he’s on such thin ice with Finch already. But he’s seen what happens to patients who are on bedrest too long. Hayden has no family here, no friends. He’s all she has, and really, they barely know each other. She can’t get better if she’s so depressed and bored she doesn’t even have an appetite anymore. She’s well enough to leave the room for a couple hours. He’ll make it work.

“I got this,” he assures her.

“Okay,” she says, and smiles uncharacteristically shyly. “What...what about, you know. I don’t have anything to wear.” She tugs self-consciously at her shapeless white gown.   

“Uh,” Scott says, having not really considered clothes to be a priority. “That? And a robe probably. Everyone in 13 wears the same thing, it’s not like people are going to be dressed up. I wouldn’t be surprised if even Derek and Braeden are wearing their everyday clothes. There’s not much here in the way of fashion. You’ll be in a wheelchair,” he adds when she continues to look uncertain. “It’s not like people won’t know you’re in the hospital.”

“Okay,” she says, more confidently this time, and when she smiles her face brightens visibly. She looks years younger, and Scott knows he’s made the right decision.

 

* * *

 

“Scott, you can’t take her to the wedding,” Allison says, looking irritated.

“Why not?” Scott says, propping his head up on the bed to look at her, blinking a couple times to focus his eyes. He’d been drifting off after another round of lazy sex after dinner, not really paying much attention to his own mumbling response to Allison’s question about what he did today.

“You can’t keep breaking the rules,” Allison says seriously, flipping her hair back and hitting Isaac in the face with it. He makes a face, an exaggerated sneer of disgust. “First getting Isaac out of jail, then disobeying orders to help her in the first place? You need to stay off their radar from now on.”

‘Stay off their radar.’ What a weirdly Capitol thing to say.

“Look, it won’t be that big of a deal. It’ll only be for a couple hours, and they clearly don’t care at all about her, so…” Scott says tiredly, letting his eyes slip shut again. He doesn’t want to get into this now, he just wants to sleep.

Allison doesn’t respond, and Scott opens his eyes after a moment. She looks resigned and worried, her hand clenched uncomfortably in her lap.

“Allison?”

“Just…” she says, finally. “Be careful.” She gets off the bed and grabs her gray clothes off the floor. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Scott feels like he should say something, but he can’t think of what, so he just watches her leave.

“What do you think?” Scott asks Isaac.

Isaac shrugs. “I mean, maybe, you know,” he says dubiously. “Maybe it’s not the best idea.”

Scott rolls onto his back and stares up at the white ceiling. “She’s alone, in that room, all day, everyday. She lost her foot, has burns all over her chest, and a hole in her throat. The doctor’s and nurses treat her, but don’t talk to her. She’s been there for two weeks, almost. Can you imagine?”

He feels Isaac shift next to him. “Okay,” he says, sounding cowed. “We just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Scott’s stomach drops a little as he remembers President Calavera’s threats against his family and friends. Stop being ridiculous, he tells himself. She was bluffing. She couldn’t just kill off a bunch of people in 13. It’d be suspicious even if she tried to make it look like an accident. Accidents didn’t happen in 13. And anyway, why would she care if he brought a patient from the hospital to a wedding? That had nothing to do with inciting a mutiny against her or whatever she was so afraid of.

“You can’t live your life being afraid of getting in trouble all the time,” Scott says, rolling over on the sweat-soaked sheets to face Isaac. “Sometimes you just have to act.”

Isaac’s lips twitch upwards in a small smile and then his eyes drop down to Scott’s chest. Scott feels his cheeks heat up at the desire in his expression and resists the urge to cover himself. He never knows quite what to feel when Isaac looks at him like that. No one has ever in his life has looked at him like that, like they want every part of him, find him, his body, desirable.

Scott smiles and scoots over to his side, laying his head down on his chest. Isaac puts his hand in his hair and runs it over Scott’s scalp roughly. Scott puts own hand on Isaac’s stomach and rubs his cheek absentmindedly over the scarred skin of his chest, his blond chest hair tickling his nose.

“What are you doing?” Isaac says, slightly strangled.

Scott raises his head to look up at him and smirks at the red blooming across his cheeks and his blown-out pupils. He crawls up Isaac’s body to kiss him and feels Isaac shudder under his hands. Isaac groans and reaches up to grab Scott’s ass, and Scott breaks the kiss and gasps soundlessly against Isaac’s neck. He had Isaac’s fingers in him earlier, and he’s pretty sure it’s his new favorite thing. Isaac seems to know exactly where to press inside him to make him burn with pleasure. He was still too skittish to go any further, but Scott can tell when he does it’s going to be _good_.

“You have to go soon, don’t you?” Scott says, pulling away reluctantly.

“What?” Isaac says, eyes unfocused.

“Work duty,” Scott reminds him gently, lifting himself off him.

“Screw work duty,” Isaac mumbles, reaching for him, but he doesn’t protest when Scott throws him his clothes.

“Why do I have to follow the rules, while you break them?” Isaac asks, from under where he’s struggling with his shirt.

“That’s totally different,” Scott says, tucking his shirt into his trousers.

“So it’s a do what I say, not what I do situation, huh?” Isaac says, raising his eyebrows, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Scott says with a grin, sitting back down on the bed to put on his shoes.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Isaac says with a mock salute.

Scott rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

It is, in fact, shockingly easy to leave the hospital with Hayden. Scott just makes sure that the nurses he’s seen treating her are working in other rooms and wheels her right out. The receptionist is the only one who asks him where he’s taking her and accepts his explanation of wedding attendance without question. But Scott’s not particularly surprised. Rule-breaking is so uncommon in 13 that he’s learned if you just act confident, most of them will assume he’s acting on orders.

The ceremony is an eclectic mix of traditions from District 4 and 11, nothing like the toasting ceremony done in 12. Derek and Braeden, are not, as Scott had expected, wearing their usual gray clothes, but instead a pure white suit and a poofy-skirted scarlet dress that could have only come from the Capitol. Scott doesn’t really know either of them, but he can’t help get teary-eyed when they exchange vows under a canopy of a long grass net and wildflowers. Kira’s father acts as the wedding officiant and he ties their hands together with a piece of cloth, a tradition from District 11, and then the couple touch each other’s lips with salt water during a District 4 wedding song. Hayden jerks in her wheelchair next to him during the kiss and Scott turns around while a round of applause starts to see tears streaming down her face.

“Hey, are you okay?!” he asks over the din, leaning down to look at her face closely.

She nods vehemently, brushing her hair out of her face and wiping away her tears. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she croaks. “I don’t know why...I’m just so happy to be here.”

“Are you in pain?” Scott asks, already reaching for the bag of morphling shots and extra bandages hanging off the back of her wheelchair that he’d prepared.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, and takes several deep breaths to regain her composure.

Scott reaches out to hold her thin hand in her lap, and she smiles at him and grips it back.

“Everything alright?” Allison says from his other side and Scott turns around to see Allison and Isaac looking over at them with identical expressions of mild distaste.

Scott raises his eyebrows confrontationally, because _really_? They have got to stop being suspicious every time he’s nice to someone. Otherwise they’re going to be suspicious for the rest of their lives.

People start getting out of their seats before either of them responds, and Scott can’t help break out into a smile as familiar music from a District 10 fiddler breaks out. He doesn’t recognize the tune, but it’s impossible to deny the similarities between the melody and the type of music played at District 12 weddings. The District 10 citizens pour out into the open space between the chairs in front of the canopy and the tables in the back and start to form lines, much to the bewilderment of the other guests, especially the District 13’s who were lucky enough to be selected for attendance.

“Want to dance?” he asks the others, pushing Hayden’s wheelchair out into the aisle when there’s a gap in the throng of people leaving their seats.

“I do, but I don’t know the steps,” Kira says, craning her neck to look over the crowd to see the dancing.

“Nah, I think I’ll pass, maybe next time,” Hayden says sarcastically, which makes Scott feel guilty for bringing it up.

They get a table at the far end of the room, nearest to the door, and Scott brings her a tray with a plate of mashed potatoes, collard greens, and a piece of red meat that looks like it actually came from an animal at some point.  It’s shockingly good for 13 food, and for a couple minutes their table is completely silent as everyone focuses on their meal. Scott almost feels like he should let the dancers know what they’re missing out on.

“Hey, careful!” Scott says, wincing as Hayden wolfs down a large piece of meat. “Your throat-”

“Is fine,” she cuts him off through a large mouthful. “I’ve been on solid food for a while now, you know.”

“But hospital food is-”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Lydia says, looking faintly amused. She’s seemed to be in a better mood lately, less dismissive and biting. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Derek’s appeal to get Peter let out early for the wedding was denied. “Why don’t you eat your own food instead of worrying over someone else’s?”

“He can do both, believe me,” Allison says with a small smile.

Scott rolls his eyes at her. “Just go slowly,” he tells Hayden. “You don’t want to upset your stomach.”

“Yes, dad,” she says sarcastically, and Scott blinks in surprise, wondering where she got that from.

“Do you want to dance?” Isaac asks abruptly, shoving the last bit of meat on his plate into his mouth.

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says a little surprised at the suggestion. He wouldn’t have thought Isaac was the type to be interested in dancing. “Maybe a little later, though, I-”

“Oh, just go,” Hayden says, rapping her fingernails on the metal table. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“But what if you need…” Scott says, trailing off because he doesn’t want to embarrass her in front of the others with any specifics.

“I’m not dancing,” Lydia says, with surprisingly little derision in her voice. “I can come get you if she needs anything.

“Okay,” Scott says uncertainly, feeling bad for bringing Hayden all the way here and then ditching her, but she seems to have made up her mind.

Dancing is great though, in spite of his hesitation. They all form a circle, Allison, Isaac, Kira, his mom, Deaton, Kira’s dad and a couple of the bolder 13’s. There’s not much finesse and lots of stepping on each other’s feet compared to the practiced movements of the 10’s around them, but everyone is too caught up in the music and atmosphere of celebration to mind, even Allison. She’s very uncertain at first, and Scott is pretty sure she’s never danced before, but she relaxes when she realizes no one’s going to make fun of her for not knowing the steps. After about half an hour they go to get something to drink, sweaty and grinning, and Scott glances towards the back of the room to see Dr. Finch speaking to Hayden at their table at the back of the room.

Shit.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Isaac, and skirts the edge of the dance floor quickly, clutching his cup of juice tightly to keep it from spilling as he navigates through the tables.

“Hi, Dr. Finch,” he says as he approaches them. “How are you doing?”

Dr. Finch turns and looks at him in confusion, and Scott inwardly winces. He should have remembered 13’s don’t really do small talk.

“I see you’ve absconded with one of my patients,” she says, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“All outsiders are supposed to be at the wedding, aren’t they?” Scott says, affecting innocence. “For a propo?” He gestures at the camera crew on the other side of the room, filming Derek and Braeden eating at their table.

“That directive excluded immobile patients,” she says coolly.

Scott’s heart skips a beat at the phrase “immobile patients”, and he tamps down a spark of anger at the memory of what that means in 13.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize,” he says, technically telling the truth as he actually didn’t read the aforementioned directive. “I thought it’d be good for her to get out of the hospital for a bit.”

“Next time try to confine your rule-breaking to less obvious venues, Soldier McCall,” she says, mouth tightening in irritation. “Anyone who is _anyone_ is here.”

President Calavera, of course. But it’s not like Scott didn’t know that.

“Are you going to report me, then?” he asks plainly, dropping all pretense of ignorance.

“I don’t report such minor incidents,” she says. “I deal with them internally.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Hayden speaks up, looking pale and scared. “I asked him to take me.  I was feeling...irrational, and I thought it would help me feel better.”

It’s a little too transparent, and Scott isn’t surprised when Dr. Finch looks unimpressed with this excuse.

“Next time stick to apologies for not understanding hospital directives, Soldier McCall,” she tells him shortly. “Don’t try argue your case.” She glances down at Hayden with a critical eye. “And make sure to bring her back before 21:00.”

“Okay,” Scott says. “I mean, yes, ma’am. _Doctor!_ ”

Doctor Finch rolls her eyes and stalks back to the front of the room bad-temperedly.

“She likes you,” Lydia observes.

“I guess,” Scott says, bemused. She certainly doesn’t act like it, but he can’t deny that she’s protected him more than once. It’d be nice if she stopped acting like she thought he is the stupidest person she’s ever met, though. “What did she say to you?”

“She was just asking how I felt,” Hayden says nervously. “I said I was fine!”

“Are you?” Scott asks in concern. She does look very pale.

“Yeah,” she says, still agitated. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“You didn’t,” Scott says, frowning at her reaction. “And just to be clear, if I was in trouble, it would be completely my fault. This was my idea, remember?”

This does not appear to be the right thing to say, because she doesn’t look reassured. “I think I want to go back now,” she says, curling into herself.

“Are you sure?” Scott says, glancing at the large digital clock above the door. “It’s only 19:45.”

“Yeah, my stomach hurts,” she says quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I think I ate too quickly.”

Scott’s not sure if she’s telling the truth, but she seems very upset, so he think it’s probably best he take her back to her room. He’d like to argue, to tell her that she’d done nothing wrong, he was _fine_ , and that she shouldn’t leave so early because who knows when she’d get another chance like this in 13, but he thinks that’d just upset her more.

“Okay, we can go,” he says gently. “Lydia, if Allison or Isaac asks, can you tell them I’ll be back soon?”

“Sure,” she replies, but she’s not looking at him, but instead at the dance floor.

Hayden is very quiet as he wheels her out of the room and into the hallway, and Scott feels more and more uncomfortable with every step he takes.

“I’m sorry,” he says when the elevator doors shut. “Did you at least have a little fun?”

“Yeah, I did,” she says, sitting up straighter in her chair and turning her head a bit to glance back at him. “I really needed to get out of there for a bit. And it was nice to see people so happy.”

“I’m sorry I left you at the table,” Scott says guiltily. “I should have known-”

“It was fine,” she reassures him. “Lydia was nice, for a brain. She had a lot of questions about hydropower.”

“Oh,” Scott says, feeling a bit mean for how surprised he is at someone describing Lydia as “nice”.

“Well, she was nice to me,” Hayden admits. “That District 4 girl came along and tried to get her to dance, and she got really pissed for some reason and basically called her a slut.”

“What?” Scott says. “Why?”

“No clue,” Hayden says with a shrug, turning back to face front. “I mean, I figured they must have had a fight or something.”

Scott thinks back and realizes that Cora hasn’t been sitting with them lately. But he just thought it was because of her brother’s wedding.

“And then the District 4 girl told her she was a hypocrite because she’s apparently been flirting with some guy named Parrish and then left. It was all very dramatic.”

Parrish? Scott think with a grimace. He hopes not. He’s probably a decade older than her.

“Well, at least you weren’t bored,” he says, and Hayden snorts with laughter.

“Thanks for everything,” she says, almost shyly after he helps her back into her bed. “I just, I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. You’ve been so kind and I couldn’t stand it if-” She voice breaks, eyes filling with tears, and Scott’s heart aches with sudden pity for her.

“Hey, it’s alright, I promise,” he says soothingly, pulling the covers up over her. “You heard, Lydia. Doctor Finch likes me, even if she pretend she doesn’t.”

“Why couldn’t she just say that then?” Hayden sobs. “I thought she was going to have you arrested!”

“Oh, Hayden, I’m sorry,” Scott says, grabbing a chair and sitting right at her bedside, putting his hand comfortingly on her arm.

“I was so scared,” she says, covering her face with her right hand. “I hate the people here! Why do they have to be so cruel!”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “It’s like they don’t know any better.”

She continues to cry, shoulders shaking violently, soft desperate sounds tearing themselves out of her mouth.

“Hayden, it’s going to be okay, I promise,” Scott says, gripping her shoulder tighter. “You’re going to get out of here soon, and then the war will be over and you’ll be able to get home.”

“My _foot_ is gone!” she shouts, bringing her knees up and hiding her face in them, hands gripping her hair by her ears tightly. “How is that ever going to be okay?!”

“It will be,” Scott says firmly. “It won’t be the same, but it will be okay. You’ll get a prosthetic. If not here, then definitely after we take the Capitol. I’ll make sure of it.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, but after a minute she stops crying.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Scott says, dismayed. “Hayden, it’s fine! You can’t bottle all this stuff up. You can talk to me any time.”

“And who do you talk to?” she asks dully, in a clear attempt at misdirection. “Allison and Isaac? They don’t seem very nice, to be honest. Or do they not know any better either?”

Scott has no idea what to say to this. She’s right after all, and it makes him feel queasy to admit it even to himself.

She looks up at him and blanches tearfully. “I’m sorry,” she says miserably. “I didn’t mean that. They’re not like people here.”

“No, they’re not,” Scott says, sounding unsure even to himself.

“I’m sorry!” she repeats. “I shouldn’t have said that. Anyone who watched the Games could tell...they protected you so many times. At first, with Isaac, the commentators were saying that it was this whole forbidden love thing going on, but when Allison came along they were just so confused. They couldn’t understand why they did everything they could to protect you.”

“Really?” Scott says in a small voice. He hadn’t known that. No wonder his mother was so uncomfortable around Isaac.

“It’s okay,” he tells her gently, when the apprehensive look on her face doesn’t disappear. “I know they’re not...they don’t seem like it. But they’ve been really good to me. And they’ve gotten better about, with other people. But it’s hard, I think it’s a defense mechanism. Not that that’s an excuse.” He smiles weakly. “Sorry, I know I’m not making any sense.”

“It’s not any of my business, anyway,” she says, swallowing uncomfortably. “I haven’t even had a conversation with either of them.”

“They were kind of glaring at you,” Scott admits ruefully. “They worry that other people are going to, you know, steal me.” It sounds incredibly dumb when he puts it like that, but he knows it’s the truth. “Which is something they need to get over. They shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Or you,” she stresses, like she thinks he might not know that.

“Don’t worry, they don’t,” he says, inappropriately amused. “I am the innocent victim in all this. They think I’m too nice to realize when other people are trying to seduce me. Which has never happened, just in case you were wondering.”

She gives him a very strange look and it takes him a second to realize that he’d just inadvertently referenced the fact that his relationship with Allison and Isaac was not strictly platonic.

“ _Seduce_ you?” she repeats, looking confused. “Really?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, feeling his face heat up. “I doesn’t really make sense, I know.”

Hayden gets a look on her face which seems like it suddenly makes all too much sense.

“How’s your stomach?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, smiling weakly. “You should go back now.”

“No, I can stay!” Scott replies, but she insists, and so Scott goes back downstairs.

The dancing is still in full swing when the guards let him back into the room, and he smiles when he sees his mother and Deaton still on the floor with Ms. Morrell and a couple of other nurses from the hospital.

“Hey,” he says as he approaches Allison and Lydia at their table. “How’s it going?”

“I saved you some cake,” Allison says, gesturing to a white and blue slice of yellow cake on a plate at his seat.

“Thanks,” Scott says, his mouth watering at the sight of it. He can’t imagine how hard someone had to fight to get 13 to agree to make it. “Where’s Isaac?” he asks, and lets out a soft groan at the taste of sugar in his mouth. He can’t remember ever having something so sweet before, not even in the Capitol.

“Getting a drink,” Allison replies. “Apparently someone spiked the punch with alcohol.”

“Oh, _really_?” Scott says, grimacing. “Why?”

He forces himself not to look around the room for his dad. He doesn’t want to know.

“Because people are idiots,” Lydia says in her usual dismissive air and it reminds Scott of what Hayden had said. He wonders what happened between her and Cora. Probably best not to ask, though.

“You have cake...” Allison says with a soft smile, the kind of smile she usually only shows when they’re in bed together. She picks up a napkin and wipes at the corner of his mouth. In public, with Lydia right there.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, feeling himself go red. He doesn’t even know why he’s so embarrassed. It’s not that big of a deal, but for some reason he feels lightheaded and uncertain. He wipes at his mouth self-consciously, even though there’s nothing there anymore.

“How’s Hayden?” she asks.

But before Scott can reply, a group of men approach their table.

“Hey,” one says. He appears to be around their age, maybe a couple years older, and has dark blond hair like Isaac and a lazy grin. The other three has similar coloring-clearly from District 10. “How are you ladies doing?”

“Fine,” Lydia says shortly, her face a mask of indifference.

“How would you like to dance?” he says, and the brightness in his eyes clues Scott into the fact that he’s probably had some of the punch. “We can show you a better time than you’re having now, I guarantee it.”

“I could not be less interested,” Lydia replies, looking disdainfully over at him.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

“ _What_ did you call me?” Lydia snaps.

“We’re not interested, go away,” Allison says, irritated.

“Why not?” the shortest one says with a sneer. “Too busy rolling around in the mud?”

He’s looking at Scott when he says it, but even if he hadn’t, Scott would have known he was talking about him. His heart sinks and he stiffens in his seat, clenching his jaw to keep from saying something he might regret.

“What?” Allison says, looking glancing between him Lydia in confusion. Lydia looks equally uncomprehending. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t think you could do better than this one?” the first one says, swaying a little as he motions towards Scott. “I mean, if you’re into dirt, we could go find some soot and, you know, work something out, if you catch my drift.”

“I think you should leave,” Allison says angrily, standing up.

“Ooh, so scary,” the short one laughs, but his friend behind him blanches.

“Look, maybe we should just go,” he tells his friend.

“Yeah, or otherwise you’ll end up with a knife in your throat,” Allison threatens.

“Allison,” Scott says quietly. She can’t start a fight. This is 13.

“Fine,” the first one says, face twisting in anger. “Wouldn’t want his sloppy seconds or your stretched out cunt.”

“Hey!” Scott shouts, the sick feeling in his stomach replaced by fury, but before he can get to his feet, Allison laughs.

“Like you could ever get either,” she says viciously and sits down in his lap, wrapping her arms possessively around his neck.

They look disgusted, but thankfully retreat without a response.

“What was _that_ about?” Lydia asks, watching them go. “They really think they’re better than you? They’re District _10_. All they do is raise cows.”

“They can’t even read a clock,” Allison says scornfully, not budging from his lap, her hand firm on the back of his neck. “Pathetic.”

“Still, that was weird,” Lydia says, spearing a piece of cake daintily. “Is being called dirty supposed to be some big insult in 10?”

“Why don’t any of them wash their hair then?” Allison asks, shifting to find a more comfortable position. “Probably just too drunk to think of anything else.”

They have no idea what just happened, Scott realizes, watching them silently, and feels even worse. His leg muscles tighten uncomfortably at Allison’s weight and his toes curl in his shoes. He wishes she would get off him. It’s weird, her just sitting on him in public. No one’s really looking at them, but he still feels wrong and queasy.

“Scott?” Allison asks, no doubt noticing something in his expression. It must be bad because she immediately looks concerned.

“Yeah?” he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He can still feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears and it’s hard to resist the urge to squirm out from under her. Every point of contact between them feels wrong.

The fiddler strikes up a new, faster tune, and Scott turns to look at the dancers, twirling carefree on the floor. It all seems very surreal, and the same happiness he’d felt watching them, being here after months of little to celebrate, turns sour in his mouth.

“Don’t listen to them, they were drunk idiots,” Lydia says, looking confused at his reaction. “They can’t talk to women without making asses of themselves, so they go after those who can.”

“That’s not what that was about,” Scott says sharply, too sharply, and forces himself to take a deep breath to calm himself.

It’s not their fault they don’t get it, he reminds himself. They are very few people with dark skin in Districts 1 and 2.

“Look, can you-” he says, putting his hands on Allison’s arms and pushing her up off his lap. The contact is unbearable.

She gets off him and sits back down on her own chair, a flash of hurt crossing her face.

“This is what it’s about,” he says, and pushes back the sleeve of his gray shirt and taps at his forearm.

Neither of them show any signs of comprehension at this and for one horrible second Scott thinks he’s going to have to explain further, but then thankfully Lydia’s expression shifts into understanding.

“Wait, you mean because your skin’s darker?” she asks, looking skeptical. “Really? I thought that was only something they cared about pre-Panem.”

“What?” Allison says, looking between the two of them, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“We learned about it in school,” Lydia explains. “Everyone hated each other back then for stupid stuff like that.”

Oh, well, if you learned it in school, then it must be true, Scott thinks bitterly.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, shrugging. “You get used to it.”

“Get used to what?” Allison says, not look reassured at all. Instead, she’s looking at him like she just found out he suffers from something chronic and painful.

“I mean, I’ve heard worse,” he says, not really sure what to make of her deathly serious expression.

“From them?” Allison asks, expression tightening in anger.

“No,” Scott says, a little bemused at why this is so hard for her to understand. “This is the first time here actually. In 12. You know, growing up.”

“People said things like that to you when you were a kid?” Allison asks, looking appalled.

Maybe he should feel touched that she’s indignant on his behalf, but instead all he feels is irritated and uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to talk about this. What’s the point? It is what it is. Her anger on his behalf cannot change the years of snide comments and insults hurled his way by classmates and teachers alike. By shop owners and some of his mother’s patients, even. Not to mention two memorable times groups of merchant boys followed him home and left him with bruises for weeks. And anyway, there are people far worthier of her concern. Scott hardly had the darkest skin in 12, and was not as much as a target as some of his other classmates from the Seam.

He doesn’t see the point in explaining this to her. Considering how new the whole concept obviously is to her, he doubts she’d understand. He already knows how the conversation would go. She’d be confused and angry and insult District 12 a lot. Completely pointless.

“I’m going to go up to bed,” he says abruptly, not wanting to spend a second more at this table.

“What? Why?” Allison says as he gets to his feet.

“I’m just tired,” Scott says, giving her a bracing smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Scott!” he hears her call after him, but he pretends he doesn’t hear her over the music and walks quickly out of the room.

The showers aren’t open this early, but even if they were Scott wouldn’t feel up for washing. So he just does back to the compartment he shares with his mother and curls up in bed, feeling inexplicably miserable. It wasn’t even that bad, he knows, and it shouldn’t ruin the overall joyous occasion, but it overshadows everything fun that came before. Maybe because he’d gotten used to not having to deal with people like that in 13. There were so few people from 12 here, and he’d started to think that it was only 12 that was like that, and he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.

He guesses he should’ve known better. Maybe there were all just pretending to be happy for Derek and Braeden and where just thinking horrible things on the inside.

An hour passes and then there’s a knock on the compartment door.

“Scott?” he hears Allison through the thick metal. “Are you there?”

Scott doesn’t really want to answer, but after a second he supposes he might as well get this over with. “Yeah,” he says, his voice drier than he expected.

The compartment door opens and he looks up to see Isaac and Allison enter the compartment. They both look deathly serious and Scott finds it almost comical.

“Hey,” Scott says, rolling over onto his back.

“Hey,” Isaac says back and darts forward to kiss him before Scott can push himself off the bed. He draws back immediately and sits down on the side of the bed, looking at Scott with transparent concern.

“I’m fine,” Scott says and sits up, mildly irritated. “Look, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You said that was the first time someone’s said something like that to you since you got here, right?” Allison asks, arms crossed over her chest tightly.

“Yeah,” Scott says casually, running a hand through his hair.

Allison studies his face carefully, like she thinks he might be lying.

“Really,” Scott emphasizes. “They don’t care about anything but following the rules here. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s only in the poorer Districts. 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12.”

“We’re not like that in 7,” Isaac says immediately, frowning. “We’re pretty poor.”

“How many people do you have with darker skin in 7, though?” Scott asks. He can’t remember ever seeing a tribute that looked him from District 7.

“A couple, I guess,” Isaac says, like he’d never thought about it before. “Our tanner looks kind of looks like you.”

A couple people. Not enough to hate, then.

“I don’t know how it works in any of the other Districts,” Scott says, looking to Allison. As far as he knows, most of the people in Districts 1 and 2, as well as the Capitol, are pretty pale. But Districts 3-6 seem to have a fair number of people with varying shades of skin and hair, and/or narrow eyes.  They’re well off compared to the lower Districts, and maybe that makes a difference. Kira’s mother was even the mayor of 5. Maybe that was only because she was a victor, but something like that could never happen in 12.

“I don’t either,” Allison says, disconcerted.

“What a stupid thing to care about, though,” Isaac says with a grimace. He puts his hand on Scott’s waist and leans in to nuzzle at Scott’s throat. “I _like_ the color of your skin. It’s nice.”

“Uh,” Scott says, flushing, but also a little taken aback at the direction this has gone in. “Okay?”

“Mmhm,” Isaac says against his neck, hands slipping under Scott’s shirt, and Scott feels his heart rate rocket upwards at the feel of Isaac’s tongue on his skin. “It’s all nice and smooth. Tastes good, too.”

Scott...doesn’t exactly know how to feel about this. He lets Isaac push him back onto the bed and blinks down at him in confusion as he slides down his body, pushing up his shirt and kissing his abdomen.

“You’re so hot,” Isaac says, muffled against his stomach, rubbing his thumbs over Scott’s hipbones. “I want to lick you all over.”

Scott tries to smother the weak sound in the back of his throat, but fails. He knows, logically, that this is not exactly how Isaac should be responding. It’s patronizing, at the very least. Scott should probably be insulted.

It’s hard, though, when Isaac keeps talking.

“The first time I saw you shirtless,” Isaac continues, pushing Scott’s shirt up further and mouthing up his sternum. “You were so skinny, but I wanted you anyway.”

Wasn’t that _in the Games_?” Scott thinks hazily, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Isaac’s head. He groans unrestrainedly when Isaac sucks on a nipple and arches his back into it.

“Yeah, c’mere,” Isaac says, pulling away. Scott immediately feels bereft, but Isaac just pulls off Scott’s shirt and presses them back onto the bed.

Scott kisses him fiercely, wanting tongue and getting it. He wraps his arms around Isaac’s shoulders, feeling suddenly incredibly turned on. Like his skin is itching, on fire, on the places Isaac isn’t touching him. Isaac settles in between his legs and Scott groans at the feel of his erection, pulling away from his mouth to gasp for breath.

Isaac kisses his neck, sucking on it in ways that’s going to leave marks Scott is surely going to care about later, but he doesn’t say anything else. Scott opens his eyes and looks over at Allison, who is still standing in the same position, but is looking considerably less uncomfortable than she had been two minutes ago.

It’s good, of course, it’s good, it’s always good with Isaac, but there’s something...something not quite...he just wants…

“Why did...I never asked, why did you think that?” he gets out with difficulty, trying to get Isaac start talking again.

“What?” Isaac asks, pulling back a bit. His lips are red and swollen, and his eyes are unfocused.

“Um,” Scott says. He repositions his hands on Isaac’s waist, under his shirt. “Why did you...why did you think that about me? I mean, no one’s ever-” He cuts himself off and winces. This is really awkward. He should just stop.

And Isaac looks just as embarrassed. “Um,” he says ducking his head and nuzzling at Scott’s throat again. “You were so nice,” he says quietly, but he’s so close that it still thrums in Scott’s ears. “And hot. That helped.”

Scott snorts with laughter that turns into a moan once Isaac starts messing with his trousers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isaac grins, getting a hand around his dick and Scott presses his face into the pillow, breathing hard. “You like it when I talk, don’t you?”

Scott makes a horrified sound and presses his face further into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. Nope, nope, nope. This is too embarrassing.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Isaac whispers in his ear, but Scott doesn’t look up until he takes his hand off his dick.

“What?” he says in dismay.

Isaac laughs and strips off his own shirt before reaching down to push down Scott’s trousers. Allison comes over to sit on the bed and kisses him and Scott smiles into it until Isaac starts jerking him off again.

“That’s it,” Isaac murmurs, and his hand is a little too dry, but Scott is too transfixed by the sound of his voice in his ear to complain. “You look so good right now, Scott, you have no idea.”

He doesn’t stop talking. Scott eventually gets too far gone to understand what he’s even saying, the sound of Isaac’s voice in his ear reverberating through his whole body. They don’t have any lube, so Isaac uses spit, which should probably gross Scott out, but he can’t care about that right now. Even less when Isaac gets his fingers in him.

He’s being embarrassing. He _knows_ he’s being embarrassing. He’s being loud, making weak, obvious sounds. But knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing as caring about it. And all he cares about is Isaac’s voice in his ear, offering encouragement, _praise_ , even. Complimenting his body. Allison’s hands on his chest, her breasts against his side, lips on his neck. He feels like he’s drowning in them, in the best way possible, and all it takes is Allison’s hand tugging his hair a little too hard for Scott to go under completely.

“...cott, Scott,” Allison says, running her hand through his hair gently. “Hey.”

Scott opens his eyes, blinking several times until the room comes into focus. Allison is leaning over him, her face very close to his. It takes another couple seconds for Scott to situate himself. He must have blacked out for a second.

“Hey,” he says, and his throat is very dry.

“You okay?”  Isaac says from behind him, his arm around his waist.

“Yeah, definitely,” Scott says, and then realizes to his embarrassment that his cheeks are wet. He rubs his eyes quickly and is surprised how hard it is move his hand to his face. He feels, weirdly enough, like he’s on a heavy dose of morphling, except without the drowsiness.

He snuggles back into Isaac, relishing the feel of his skin against his back. It feels so nice.

“You passed out for a second there,” Allison says. She strokes his hair gently, but other than that there’s no contact between them, and Scott _wants_. He reaches out sluggishly and pulls her against him, moaning softly at the softness of her. Her legs brush his under the blankets that Scott doesn’t remember being pulled over him, and Scott lets his eyes slip shut. He can’t remember ever feeling this good, like all the worries and fears that he carries around with him have shrunk into nothingness.

He feels Allison’s lips on his cheek and then he slips back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to finish this story if it kills me, I swear to God. I just keep getting distracted by, like, random shit. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm not sure how well I stuck the landing at the end, but I didn't think it was realistic for people with the backgrounds that Allison and Isaac have to really understand the extent to which racism has affected Scott's life. And I did want to touch on the implications of Scott being in relationship with two white people in this universe, even just a little.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in a comment! :)


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